


Not to Win

by foryouandbits



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: 2014 Winter Olympics, Alternate Universe - Olympics, First Time, Happy Ending, Hockey, M/M, Miscommunication, References to Drugs, Slow Build, Smut, Some angst, but not a lot, figure skating, many closeted characters, overdose (in the past)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-09
Updated: 2017-01-05
Packaged: 2018-08-29 21:53:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 66,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8506849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foryouandbits/pseuds/foryouandbits
Summary: The most important thing is not to win but to take part.Eric Bittle, 2014 US National Champion, is selected to compete in the men's individual figure skating competition in the 2014 Sochi Olympic Games. Jack Zimmermann, Captain of the Providence Falconers, is selected to the hockey team for Canada. Eric and Jack meet in Sochi and form a quick bond in a place where emotions and adrenaline run high. Can it last when the games are over, or are they just another Olympic hookup?





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I cannot give enough praise to [Luckie](http://archiveofourown.org/users/luckie_dee/pseuds/luckie_dee) for her beta work on this. Thank you so much!

 

 

 

 

 

  **BITTY**

"There's nothing to worry about, sweetie," said Suzanne Bittle to her son Eric, who sat in the dressing room of the Garden in Boston, pigeon toed and biting his fingernails. Eric glanced up at the blank television and then back down at the floor before he gripped the lip of the chair underneath him. The gold medal around his neck swung back and forth, in and out of his vision as he stared at the point of his tennis shoes. A hand on his back, this time from his left, caused him to look up and he shifted his gaze over to his coach. Her warm smile creased at the corner of her eyes.

"If you don't make the Olympic team, I will file an official protest and renounce my US citizenship," she said.

"That would make it worse, Katya," said Eric. Katya leaned forward and touched her forehead to his. Eric closed his eyes and just breathed with her, but a knock at the door caused Eric to sit upright in his chair and put both of his hands over his mouth. Suzanne gripped Eric's right knee tightly when Katya leapt out of her chair and opened the door.

It was Matthew, the stage manager who had directed Eric to and from the ice over the past week of competition. Eric could feel his heart beating wildly in his chest and refused to look at his mother, who he could hear holding back tears. "Eric," Matthew said with a smile and Eric nodded. "I need you to come with me."

"Is it official, then? Did he make it?" Suzanne asked for Eric.

Matthew turned to her and the expression on his face was unmistakable. Suzanne clapped her hands together and embraced around her son, who grasped one of her arms with both of his hands and tried not to cry himself. "Come on, Eric, the conference starts in a few minutes. You'll be announced first."

"Oh my God," said Eric. "Oh my God, I'm going to the Olympics."

"You're going to the Olympics," said Katya. Eric kissed his mother and then clambered out of his seat and hugged Katya, one of the few people in his life he could definitively say was shorter than him. Katya stood on her toes to kiss him on both cheeks before she held his face in his hands, looked directly into his brown eyes, and said, "This is just the beginning, my Itty Bitty. This is what we have worked toward all these years. And this is just the beginning."

"Thank you, Katya," Eric replied. He kissed her as well before he followed Matthew out of the room with one final look back at his coach and his mother. They were facing the television, arms around each other, tears in their eyes. Eric closed the door quickly before their emotion caught up to him and followed Matthew down the hallway.

"I'll hold onto your medal," said Matthew. "They'll want you to have it for the photoshoot after, but don't wear it during the announcement." Eric removed his medal and handed it to Matthew. Matthew gestured toward the door in front of them. Eric took a deep breath before he opened it and let it out just as quickly; nothing was surprising here as the other members of the US Olympic Figure Skating Team looked back at him and broke into silent applause. Eric relaxed as he hugged person after person, ending at the front of the line with Jeremy Abbott, the other contender for the men's individual competition. Jeremy held him tightly before he ruffled Eric's blond hair. Eric let go and tried to repair some of the damage. Katya preferred it longer, saying it made him "look younger," but Eric never had a problem looking young for his age. It was the side effect from years of hard training to keep as small and speedy as possible; even Jeremy, now nearing thirty, looked like he could pass for a teenager.

"Had no doubt it'd be you, Golden Boy," Jeremy whispered.

"Hush," replied Eric, and just as he said it, Matthew entered with the final team member and began to line them up according to the upcoming announcement. Matthew ushered Eric to the front of the line, where Eric felt his nerves return. He stood just behind a black curtain that would lead to the head table housing the US Figure Skating Committee and several rows of press. It was just ceremony at this point, no reason to really be nervous as they wouldn't be asking questions until well after the announcement, but Eric stared at the curtain with his knees knocking.

Eric pushed his heels into the floor in attempt to alleviate the shakiness; Katya had given him the tip at the age of eight and now, eleven years later, Eric was grateful for her advice. It didn't matter where Eric competed – here in Boston at the US National Championship, in Ontario at the World Championship last year, or even at local exhibitions back in Georgia when he and Katya lived there, his nerves would catch him when he was alone, usually in the tunnel while he stared at the Jumbotron and waited for his name to be called. The feeling never went away, not entirely, not until –

"Our first selection to the United States Olympic Figure Skating Team is Eric Bittle."

Eric let out a deep breath and parted the curtain. He could hear the shutter of cameras immediately and he plastered a toothy smile as he walked across the room to the end of the table. He stood there awkwardly, not sure what to do with his hands, but at that point the attention was back to the head table where they had moved on:

"Our second selection to the United States Olympic Figure Skating Team is Jeremy Abbott."

Jeremy emerged from the holding room. He waved to the five rows of media and press before he reached Eric, then held out a fist for a bump. Eric smiled and bumped it, temporarily blinded by camera flashes to capture the moment, and then they stood next to each other, grinning naturally, and waiting for the rest of the team.

It wasn't until an hour later that Eric finished answering questions from the press, just a few interviews from several different outlets, all starting the same way: "Eric, was there any doubt in your selection after your win here in Boston?"

"Of course," said Eric, "it's not just the results tonight that go into the decision."

"But you took fourth place in Worlds last year, the highest placement by far by any American."

"It's just an honor to be selected."

Eric's face hurt as he walked back to the dressing room. He paused at the door, knowing his mother and Katya were on the other side, bursting to begin the celebration. It'd been hours since he looked at his phone and when pulled it out of his pocket, he could already see several notifications that would have to wait just a bit longer.

 **Eric Bittle** @omgcheckplease  
So blessed. Bring it on Sochi! #Sochi2014 #Olympics #TeamUSA

 

**JACK**

Jack was just putting on his skates in his stall when George entered the locker room. She usually waited until after practice for announcements if there were any to make, or relayed them to Jack early in the morning, so an appearance this close to ice time usually meant urgent news. Jack pulled his skate off again and placed it back in his stall.

"What's up, George?" he asked before she could even approach him.

"Good, you're not laced up yet. Can you take a minute and chat? I don't want to hold up the team."

"Yeah, sure."

It was a slow, awkward walk to George's office; Jack hadn't put on any shoes and had all of his padding on, but George gestured to the larger chair before she shut the door behind her. Jack sat down, his hands in the collar of his practice jersey, and waited for George to sit behind her sparsely decorated desk. Despite two seasons as the team's captain, Jack still felt like he barely knew his Assistant Manager. She was an excellent running partner but that was the extent of their relationship.

"I just got a call from Hockey Canada. They want you for the Olympic Team."

"Yeah?" Jack asked, a small grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Who else?"

"On the Falconers?" George asked. Jack nodded. "Just you."

"Really?" Jack asked, crinkling his thick eyebrows as he mentally ticked through no less than four other team members who also deserved to go – Dex and Nursey for sure, maybe even Wicks. "Am I going to miss any games for this? We've got a good team this year – we could go all the way. I don't want to let anyone down because I'm off playing for a different team."

"You won’t have to miss any games – nothing is scheduled during the Olympics to accommodate those who have to go. I asked around for the rest of the roster. Nothing's confirmed yet but it looks like a few people you know. Oluransi and Birkholtz more than likely will be D-men on your line."

"Yeah?" Jack asked. "Awesome, I haven't played with them since Juniors."

"And Kent Parson."

Jack's smile cracked. George sat back in her chair and quickly moved on, "There's a good chance you'll get the C if you go. I'd recommend it."

"I don't know. How long do I have to decide?" Jack asked.

"Just until the end of the week. It's a good opportunity for you, Jack. It'll be a great opportunity for the team too. You should go. Play for Canada."

"You going to cheer me on?" Jack asked, his smile returning. George shook her head.

"Absolutely not. Team USA all the way."

"Thanks, George," said Jack. "I'll let you know by Friday." George nodded and watched as Jack left the office and headed back to the locker room. Before he turned the corner that led back inside, where his team was waiting for his direction out to the ice, he grabbed the collar of his jersey again, holding onto the chest pad, and let his mind drift. It was quiet in the hallway, but summer conditioning was normally quiet. The fan base in Providence was still growing since the NHL expanded there in 2005. New England had several professional teams to choose from and Providence took several years to turn a winning season. It was getting better, though, after three consecutive playoff showings and the most solid team Jack had seen since joining the franchise in 2008.

George was right, though, that this could be good for the Falconers, especially if Jack became captain. Canada usually did well in the Olympics and Jack at the forefront of an all-star roster could really drive home the attendance goals the Falconers had been trying to achieve for years. It would be good to see some of the guys again in a more familiar setting – Ransom and Holster made a great defensive pair even though they hadn't played on the same line since Juniors – but having to play with Parse again…

Jack shook his head and entered the locker room. All eyes were on him as soon as he entered and he put on a straight face for them. "On the ice everyone. I'll be out as soon as I lace up. Dex, Nursey – start the drills."

"Yes, Cap," said Dex, saluting with his gloves on, the bright blue clashing terribly with his red hair. "C'mon, nerds."

Jack sat down in his stall and pulled on his skates. The entire team filed out before he finished lacing up. As Jack pulled his laces tighter against the top of his foot, his gaze shifted past them to the blue carpet. Jack looked forward at the edge of the Falconers logo in the center of the room, the blue abruptly ending with the white outline of their triangular logo.

_Jack? Jack! Jack, wake up!_

Jack closed his eyes.

_Come on, Jack, stay with me. Please, please, please…_

Jack looked up to see the gray concern in Kent Parson's eyes. It was just a glance, just brief, before the gray expanded, dimmed the colors in the room, and Jack couldn't see anymore.

"Jack?" Jack opened his eyes. Nursey stood at the door. "You coming, man?"

"Yeah. Yeah, sorry."

Jack tied the lace on his skate and then headed toward the ice. Nursey waited for him and held open the door. Jack trudged through on his skates and then looked down the hall where George was just leaving her office. She looked at Jack and Nursey and saluted before she headed in the opposite direction.

"Wait, George," called Jack. George turned around, looking at Jack expectantly. "I'll do it. Let them know." George smiled.

"Will do, Cap."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi y'all – hope you like this! I have a couple of quick things I wanted to point out before we move on.
> 
> This obviously is set at the 2014 Sochi Olympics, mostly out of convenience since data was prevalent on who won what, which buildings they played in, and other things like weather. That being said, I may change a few things around like rosters and playing times. Don't expect the results to be the same (so if you're cheating and looking up which countries won medals in Hockey and Men's Figure Skating, you're going to be surprised… OR WILL YOU?).
> 
> Since this takes place in 2014 and I'm including most of the characters in the comic, I did have to adjust age in a few situations in order to make characters eligible to play in the NHL and of a reasonable tenure, so don't be alarmed if all of a sudden Chowder and Bitty are the same age or Ransom is several years older than he should be. Same with country of origin – some people now have dual citizenship when canon dictates they're Americans, or some people are just magically Canadian.
> 
> Thanks for reading!
> 
> ETA: I'm aware that the US Olympic Figure Skating team is selected by the results at Nationals, so this opening scene is inaccurate because Bitty would be well aware he was on the team based on his gold medal, but I still like it how it is :)


	2. Chapter One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to luckiedee for her awesome beta skills.

**BITTY**

 

"Katya, I can't. Oh Lord, I can't. Look at it. Can you take a picture of me and Mama? Mama, come take a picture with me in front of the rings!" Eric grabbed his mother's hand and pulled her toward the pedestal in front of the five interlaced rings, each one bigger than Eric himself.

It had been a long journey to get to Olympic Park in Sochi, Russia, not just with the difficulty in travel. Suzanne travelled from Madison to Boston to meet Eric and Katya before they all took a flight to New York, to London, to Moscow, and then finally down to Sochi. They'd been travelling for almost a full twenty-four hours and Eric had absolutely no idea what time it was back home, but he knew he was exhausted and knew, at the same time, that he was finally, finally at the Olympics.

It had been colder in Boston. Eric woke up in his dorm room at Samwell University the morning of his flight to an unacceptable ten degrees Fahrenheit and then, an undeterminable several hours later, stood at the _Winter_ _Olympics_ in just his red puffy vest and white long-sleeved shirt. It was a small mercy that his rink was inside; he could only imagine the concern the snowboarding and ski teams were feeling after getting off the plane to sixty degrees.

"Mama, what would you do if I got a tattoo of the Olympic rings?" Eric asked, his arm around his mother, both of them smiling as Katya tried to find the best angle to capture both Bittles and the rings.

"Dicky, honey, you're nineteen and you can do whatever you want, but please never get a tattoo. Imagine what your daddy would say."

"But it's the Olympic rings, Mama," said Eric. "Coach would be able to tell people his son has a tattoo of the Olympic rings because his son is an Olympian."

"Oh, Lord," said Suzanne and tears clouded her eyes.

"Mama, no –"

"My son is an Olympian," she said. "I can't believe this. I can't believe we're here. Katya, can you see them okay?"

"Yes, smile!" Katya yelled – she stood at least fifty feet away to capture the entire structure and both Eric and his mother. "You look great! Suzanne, get one with me and Bitty." Suzanne switched places with Katya. Katya leapt up on the pedestal next to Eric. Eric quickly latched onto her and pulled her up against him.

"I'm glad you're here with me, Katya," said Eric.

"I'm glad you're here, my Itty Bitty," said Katya. "Now let's put a smile on, yes? The games have not even started yet. It is too early for tears." Eric hugged her tightly before he let go, faced his mother, and smiled brightly. Suzanne yelled for pictures of Eric alone, so Eric stood awkwardly in front of the camera for several pictures before they continued their tour.

"Is it weird, Katya?" Eric asked after they passed a set of flagpoles with both the Olympic flag and the Russian flag together. "Being back in Russia?"

"A little," said Katya. She'd always had an accent, ever since Eric had known her, but it was significantly thicker since they landed in Russia that morning. "My family left when I was sixteen but it was to seek a better life, not to escape from what we had here. We were one of the few who left on good terms." Katya looked up at the Russian flag, hundreds of feet in the air. "I do miss home sometimes, but we're not from around here. This is very different than the Russia I knew as a little girl."

Eric settled into step with her as they walked around the park; he wanted to see more of the Olympic facilities but Katya stopped them before Eric's feet left campus.

"Bitty, you need to rest your legs before competition. The opening ceremony is tomorrow and you'll be on your feet most the night – I don't want you to get overtired before you even get on the ice. Let's get you checked into the Village." Eric didn't protest and let Katya lead them back to the shuttle stop. After a few minutes of waiting, the shuttle pulled up to the stop. Eric showed his ATHLETE badge to the driver, who gestured Eric inside.

"Go to bed early tonight," said Katya when Eric turned back to her to say goodbye, "and nap if you need to, but nothing too long. Try to get on schedule as soon as you can. It'll hit you worse tomorrow."

"Okay," said Eric.

"Make sure you eat," said Suzanne. "Have a good dinner tonight."

"Okay," repeated Eric. "Katya – tomorrow?"

"Practice for your team skate is at eight o'clock. I'll meet you here at seven-thirty."

"Ugh, really?" asked Eric. Katya placed both of her hands on her small hips; even after forty years since her last competition, Katya had not lost her skater's frame. "Okay, okay. Seven-thirty."

"I love you, Dicky," said Suzanne. She gave Eric a kiss on the cheek. Katya pulled him into a hug, and then Eric climbed aboard the shuttle. It was just a quick five minute ride to the Village, but five minutes in a shuttle was a considerable distance on foot, and Eric was glad Katya made him take this route instead. He hopped off the shuttle at the first stop.

The Village was bustling with athletes. According to Katya, there were six thousand athletes in attendance at these games and most of them were staying in the Village. Eric didn't realize until she said it that he had an option _not_ to stay in the Village. It was probably expensive, though, and according to Jeremy when the team held their final group practice in the States, it was an experience he was not allowed to miss.

Signage was listed in French, English, and Russian, but even with three languages, it took Eric twenty minutes to locate his building and his apartment. He unlocked the door and peeked his head in, unsure of what he would find inside.

"Eric!" said Jeremy as soon as Eric's forehead was visible. Eric entered the apartment and kept his disappointment to a minimum. He'd just come from the dorms in Samwell University, which he'd had the pleasure of seeing a lot of over the past few weeks. He knew going into his sophomore year that this semester would be busy with competition, but it wasn't until Thanksgiving that he made the official decision to withdraw from classes. The dorm was already paid for through the year, so despite his temporary withdrawn status, he still had a home while he and Katya trained several hours every day for a shot at this – a small, plain apartment in Russia. The apartment had three bedrooms on opposite sides of a small sitting room and a kitchenette. The suites in his dorm had more decoration than this.

"Really?" Eric asked as he continued to look around. The refrigerator was a standard size but there was no dishwasher and the oven looked to be half the conventional size.

"Yeah, welcome to the Olympics," said Jeremy. "We're in this room over here. Simon and Charlie are sharing the other one. Don’t go in the third room. It doesn’t have beds. It doesn’t even have a floor.”

“Seriously?” Despite Jeremy’s concern, Eric opened the door to the third bedroom. There was no carpeting, just a concrete subfloor and several loose planks of wood. He immediately shut the door.

“Did you get a chance to see the park yet?" Jeremy asked.

"A little bit," said Eric. He followed Jeremy to the bedroom and his heart sunk at the sight of two plain white twin beds squished into the center of the room, one with a Team USA bag on it already. Eric placed his messenger bag on the other bed and sat down. As he did, the bed creaked ominously. Eric looked up at Jeremy.

"Yeah. Vancouver was shit too but it was a cakewalk compared to this. I haven't seen any stray dogs yet so I think we'll be okay." Eric shivered. "We'll barely be here anyway until the events are over. You ready for this?"

"I'm not super worried. I know this program in my sleep."

"Nah, Eric, not your program. I know your program is good. Are you ready for this?" Jeremy gestured to the white walls of their horrible bedroom. "The Olympics, Eric. Are you ready for the most intense two weeks of your life?"

"…Yes?" Eric said, eyeing his teammate with a considerable amount of skepticism. "What are you talking about?"

"Oh, Eric, you are such a baby."

"I'm nineteen! I'm in college!"

"Listen, Eric, you're not a real Olympian until you walk home after your evening event and see two idiots fucking in the alleyway."

"Um… what? Do people do that?"

"Think about it. You've been training eight hours a day every day for months. I know we have Worlds in a few weeks after this but for a lot of the people here? This is everything they've been working for. They're wound so tight and once that's over, once the results are in, then there's nothing left to do but get wasted."

"I guess," said Eric. He got off his bed and headed back into the living room, followed closely by Jeremy. "Do we have any supplies in this fridge or is it completely empty?"

"I think Simon put a few protein shakes in there, but apart from that it's empty." Eric opened the refrigerator regardless, expecting something else to be inside. The apartment was small, the bed was creaky, the walls relentlessly white, but there was nothing sadder than the sight of an empty fridge. Eric opened the cabinets in search of supplies, but apart from the basic cutlery and a few pots and pans, there was nothing that led Eric to believe he would be doing much cooking in here.

Eric looked over the counter and his eyes settled on a large glass bowl full of small white packages. Eric jumped at the sight of it and Jeremy burst into laughter from the tiny couch. "Listen, Eric, I can't promise you a medal, but I can promise you that the decisions you make here will be regretful but glorious, the alcohol you drink will be ridiculously overpriced, and the loss of virginity you may experience within these walls will range from reassuring to emotionally damaging. Welcome to Sochi 2014."

Eric hid the bowl under the sink.

 

***

 **Eric Bittle** @omgcheckplease  
Mama said no to the Olympic tattoo  
  
**Eric Bittle** @omgcheckplease   
@omgcheckplease I mean it's not like I have to tell her about it  
  
**Eric Bittle** @omgcheckplease  
@omgcheckplease Never mind, Katya just saw me tweet that and hit me over the head with my own gear bag #notattooforyou #Olympics #Sochi2014

 

***

 

"Do you want to get dinner before the ceremony?" Eric asked Jeremy as the two of them stepped into the park after morning practice. Just the word made Eric's heart skip a beat. It hadn't quite sunk in yet – he'd rehearsed that morning in the Iceberg Skating Palace, stood alone at center ice with his eyes downcast at the official Sochi 2014 symbol below him – but everything still seemed surreal. Jeremy barely seemed excited, but that was to be expected. This was his second Olympics, he was reaching the end of his career, and he'd already competed in his first routine (the Team Men's Short Program), earning the US Team seventh place in its first event with a lot of ground to make up.

"Yeah, sure," said Jeremy. He stuffed his hands in his pockets but looked straight ahead while Eric scrolled through the notifications on his phone.

"It's fine, you know," said Eric. "All of our programs are really strong. I'm not at all worried about how we're going to do the next few days." Jeremy didn't respond apart from a snort.

Eric looked back at his phone. His Twitter follower count had grown exponentially since the announcement of the US Olympic Team about a month before, but the number definitely skyrocketed that morning with the upcoming Opening Ceremony. His follower count wasn't too shabby beforehand – figure skating definitely had a cult following – but this was something unexpected and wonderful. As they crossed the center of the park, headed back to the Village, Eric wondered if these followers would also want to watch him vlog about pie.

Eric was about to put his phone away and pay attention, he really was, when he looked up and immediately ran directly into six feet of arms and legs that yelled "Oof!" as they both fell to the ground.

"Oh no I'm so sorry!" Eric said immediately, ignoring the scrape on the heels of his hands and the sharp pain in his knee when he'd hit the ground.

"Eric, are you okay?" Jeremy said unnecessarily loudly and reached out to help Eric up off the ground, but Eric had already grabbed the hands of the other crash victim and they stood up together.

"I'm sorry, I never look where I'm going –"

"No, no, it's my fault.  I'm fine! I'm sorry!"

"Eric, did you land okay? How's your knee?"

"How's _his_ knee? What about Chowder's knee?"

"Who's Chowder?"

Eric and the man called Chowder stood up and Eric could finally assess the situation, but what he saw brought a lump of terror into his throat. Jeremy, just a few inches taller than Eric, was nowhere near the height of the five marble statues standing around Chowder, who was very much on the skinny side but still taller than Eric or Jeremy. Apart from Chowder, who blushed furiously and continued to apologize for being in Eric's way, they all looked menacing, as if Eric had personally offended them. Eric took a step back, bumping into Jeremy, who took him by the shoulder to steady him.

"Seriously, kid, watch where you're going," said one of them. He looked the most ferocious out of all of them, the pupils of his sky blue eyes just tiny specks as he glared directly at Bitty, who shrunk back against Jeremy. "Chowder, are you hurt?"

"No, I'm fine. It's okay! I wasn't paying attention either!"

"No one's hurt, guys," said Jeremy. "We're cool."

"Yeah, luckily," said Blue Eyes. "Tell your brother to watch out."

"He's not my brother. Do you know who this is?" Jeremy asked.

"Jeremy, it's fine, let's just go to dinner," said Eric, but Eric could barely hear his own voice.

"This is Eric Bittle. The Eric Bittle. The best figure skater in the world right now."

"Oh hey, you're Jeremy Abbott, aren't you?" said Chowder with a smile. It made Eric soften a bit to see that he still had braces on his teeth. "My girlfriend loves figure skating. She'll be here the end of the week and I know she'd love to meet you both –"

"Chowder, come on. Let's go." Chowder shut up and followed the rest of the group in the opposite direction, his hands in the pocket of his red jacket, his eyes downcast. Eric and Jeremy watched them leave – once they had all turned around Eric could see each of them were wearing a bright red Team Canada jacket.

"Hockey dicks," said Jeremy. "They're all the same. Let's get back and get some dinner – and don't let it get to you, okay? In a couple of hours you, my friend, are going to repping Team USA in the Parade of Nations. How many people can say they've done that?" Jeremy slung an arm around Eric's shoulders; Eric put his phone in his pocket and looked determinedly ahead.

 

**JACK**

 

Jack wanted to say he wasn't overwhelmed, but he was definitely overwhelmed. Some of the guys on the team had been at the 2010 Vancouver games and warned Jack that nothing felt real until the Opening Ceremony, and Jack didn't believe them. He was here to play hockey and win for Team Canada, but when he put on his coat and his red-and-white Canada toque, the weight of what it represented took the wind out of him. He sat on his creaky twin bed and placed his elbows on his knees, his hands sliding the knit of his hat back and forth over his hair.

"Well don't you just look like maple syrup in a bottle."

Jack looked up. Shitty – why was he called Shitty? Jack had yet to figure it out – stood in the doorway, shirtless with his toothbrush in his mouth. Jack slowly sat up, taking low, even breaths that he hoped Shitty wouldn't notice. "Are you coming to the ceremony?" Jack asked. "Or are you too American to walk for Canada tonight?"

Shitty took the toothbrush out of his mouth, flinging foam onto the carpet. Jack hoped maybe the fluoride in the paste would help keep the carpet clean. "I'll have you and the rest of these naysayers know I've had dual citizenship for five years now. It's not my fault your country is so lousy they had to reach out to Americans for talent."

"You mean our country," said Jack. He stood and clapped Shitty on the bare shoulder. "Don't worry, with hair like that no one would suspect you're anything but Canadian." Shitty returned his toothbrush to his mouth and swung his hair over his shoulder.

"You love it, Jack Zimmermann."

"So is it required that I have to room with you?" Jack asked. "Can I make you sleep on the couch?"

"I can sleep in your bed too, brah," said Shitty. He headed back to the bathroom.

"Be downstairs in five minutes, Shits. We're walking over together at six."

"Anything you say, Cap."

The twenty-five men of the Team Canada hockey roster followed the crowd of athletes to Olympic Stadium, Jack standing at the front. The toques helped him identify the other Canadian athletes, but red was a popular country color and Jack found himself dazed again at the thought that they were all headed to the same place, the entire swarm of them. It didn't help the rest of the team were shoving at each other, eager to get going, eager to get inside the stadium and see all of the rest of the athletes and spectators in full form.

"Knock it off," Jack said as Holster laughed and pushed Chowder into him. "Chowder, you okay from earlier? You didn't sprain your knee or anything, did you?"

"I'm right as rain, Cap!" said Chowder, saluting a little too sloppily for someone who was completely sober. "It was totally my fault."

"Hmph," said Jack. "Holster, did you get him drunk? He's nineteen."

"Drinking age in Russia is eighteen," said Holster, standing upright so he towered over the rest of the team. "And he had one beer. I think that's just how he is all the time."

"I'm fine!" yelled Chowder. "Jack, are you excited? Jack, we're at the OLYMPICS. Are the Olympics like the playoffs? Like do we have to stop shaving?"

"Have you ever shaved in your life, Chowder?" Holster asked. Ransom, who stood on the other side of Holster, yelled "BURN" before he elbowed someone else out of the way as they finally exited the Village.

"Everyone, just stop it. We'll be there with plenty of time to spare," said Jack. "This is how people fall."

Chowder continued to ask questions until they arrived at the stadium, and despite how annoying the kid was, the distraction was welcome. Chowder kept the volume up so the entire team could hear his questions, Ransom and Holster stopped pushing others and instead just pushed each other until their laughter drowned out Chowder's questions.

Despite Chowder's youth and Ransom and Holster's inability to be serious in any situation, Jack's line was developing well. From the moment they met at camp, Shitty fell into Jack's step right away, always in the right spot when Jack needed him. Ransom and Holster were brutal on defense, protecting their "young baby son" Chowder at all costs, but even when a shot got to Chowder, the young baby son was a beast in his net.

The only problem was Parse. Jack let his eyes drift to his left, as they did frequently over the past few months since Team Canada's first practice back in August. Kent Parson stood at the edge of the crowd, not quite removed from the team but not quite included either. He was in a good mood, though, winking at a Swedish skier who fell into step with him after they left the village. Kent Parson was the most popular hockey player in the world, more popular than Jack Zimmermann by far, but the team manager warned Jack right away that Kent would be a challenge when news broke that Jack received the C and Ransom and Holster got the A's.

"I'm well aware of Kent's challenges," said Jack to Lardo, their team manager and so far the only female actually involved in Men's Olympic hockey. When Shitty told Jack that Lardo would be their team manager, Jack expected someone who lived up to the name and instead got a five foot woman with less body fat than the figure skaters.

"Right," Lardo has said. "You two played together in Juniors, right?"

"Right," said Jack.

"We might put him on your line then," said Lardo, and when Jack left the office he slapped his palm against his forehead.

Kent looked back at Jack, his eyes green tonight, and Jack quickly returned his gaze ahead of him.

It hit Jack again in the tunnel as they watched the three athletes from the Cayman Islands proceed into the stadium. Jack could hear the screaming of the crowd from his spot in the tunnel, packed in with the two hundred other athletes from his country. Chowder was buzzing next to him, Ransom and Holster had finally stopped physically assaulting the other athletes, and even some of the veterans, those who had been to the 2010 games and those who had even been to the 2006 games, were starting to chatter loudly. The announcer read Canada three times, fortunately the same in French, English, and Russian, and as Jack walked up the ramp and into the packed Olympic Stadium, the crowd began to swell with applause. It was louder than any home game, louder than any playoff game. This was fifty-five thousand screaming spectators, cheering for a clear Winter Games favorite. There would be no doubt that Canada would medal several times over the next two weeks, and as Jack waved and smiled and forgot all about the nervous energy he felt back in his room, he hoped that one of those medals would be his.


	3. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to luckiedee for being a fantastic beta!

** BITTY **

 

Eric was tweeting again after his practice on the second day of the Olympics. Suzanne warned him immediately upon boarding the plane in Boston that he was not allowed to text internationally. Every penny of Eric's earnings from his recent competition victories went directly to paying off college, and while it was enough, they weren't made of money. Or, at least, that was what Suzanne kept saying. His follower count after the opening ceremony had reached twenty thousand and he'd almost had a heart attack when he woke up and saw the new number.

Twenty thousand was ridiculous, and his phone had been blowing up all morning, so Katya told him to turn off his notifications, or at least only turn on the ones for people who mattered to him, and he didn't have the heart yet to mute everybody. His feed was clogged with notes of encouragement and wishes of good luck; a few of them were not as nice but he had plenty of positive messages to keep him satisfied and excited for his upcoming free skate. He had to keep his mind in the right spot in order to be able to do well; despite what he had said to Jeremy, seventh place was a bad start to still be in the running for a medal, and Eric knew both Russia and Japan's program overall was going to be tough to beat.

"Hey!"

Eric looked up just in time to run into Blue Eyes, but unlike the run in with Chowder, Eric simply bounced off of what felt like a solid brick wall.

"Do you EVER look where you're going?" Blue Eyes snapped. Eric immediately backed away and looked around; while the park was bustling with first-day spectators and athletes, no one was in their immediate vicinity, which meant at the very least none of Blue Eyes' teammates were with him. Eric, on the other hand, was also alone since Katya ordered him back to the Village for a massage on his slightly-out-of-line right knee.

"I'm sorry," said Eric quickly. "I need to get going, I'm sorry."

Eric tried to scoot by but Blue Eyes grabbed him by the bicep and stopped him. Eric looked down at the large hand wrapped completely around his arm, his dark eyes wide. Blue Eyes immediately let go of him.

"Sorry," Blue Eyes said, his voice softer than Eric had heard it. "You need to pay attention. You almost walked into a flagpole twenty feet ago and yesterday you could have seriously hurt yourself or my goalie. He's the best one in the league – I can't afford to lose him right now."

"Can I go, please?" Eric asked. Blue Eyes nodded.

"Good luck tomorrow," said Blue Eyes. Eric turned away and looked back down at his phone for just a moment before he put it in his pocket and hurried across the park, as far away from Blue Eyes as possible.

Once out of the park and back at the Village, Eric looked at the time. Katya had set up an appointment for him at eleven o'clock with the Building D masseuse, but it was still only ten-thirty and Building D was just around the corner. The Village was actually quite beautiful from the outside – still the first day of the games, there wasn't the chance for anyone to really make a mess of anything yet, and the day was bright and cloudless, shining brilliantly on the red roofed apartments. The Black Sea was visible from one end of the Village, spreading out into the distance, but on the opposite side the nearby mountains tapered off into the horizon, barely any snow visible on their caps. Katya had taken him skiing for the first time last January during their first real winter in the great Up North of Massachusetts, just on a few of the bunny hills, and it was definitely something to experience, but it was not anything Eric could see himself ever becoming passionate about. These mountains were larger than the ski hills in Boston, but at least those had real snow.

Eric stared at it until he couldn't stare any more, his phone burning a hole in his pocket. He pulled it out and opened up the internet (his mother would kill him for the data charges), but he could see Blue Eyes in the color of the sky and couldn't go another second without knowing the name of the man who would more than likely beat him up and stuff him inside a trash bin before the games were over.

It took less than a second of googling to see his face again.

 

** JACK ZIMMERMANN NAMED CAPTAIN OF TEAM CANADA **

 

_ Jack, _ thought Eric, _Jack Zimmermann._

Eric typed in "Jack Zimmermann" into Google News, expecting nothing more than a few short stories about Jack's team, but instead several articles popped up, dating back all the way to 2007.

 

** MARTIN RETIRES; ZIMMERMANN NAMED CAPTAIN OF PROVIDENCE FALCONERS **

** ZIMMERMANN: 'HAPPY' TO BE PART OF THE FALCONERS' TEAM **

** CAN JACK ZIMMERMANN HANDLE THE STRESS OF AN NHL SEASON? **

** ZIMMERMANN BOOTED TO MINORS AMID OVERDOSE CONTROVERSY **

** JACK ZIMMERMANN FOUND UNCONSCIOUS IN MONTREAL HOME **

** PARSON DRAFTED TO ACES IN 1 ** ** ST ** ** PICK; ZIMMERMANN SETTLES FOR SECOND **

** NHL DRAFT: WILL 1 ** ** ST ** ** GO TO PARSON OR ZIMMERMANN? **

 

Eric quickly returned his phone to his pocket and placed his hands over his eyes. That, at least, was not what he expected.

 

***

 

Jeremy was in their bedroom after dinner, listening to his short program music over and over again, typing something up on his computer. Eric entered the room and sat down, causing Jeremy to immediately reach for his headphones.

"Nah, it's fine if you want to keep it on," said Eric. "I'm just going to look at Pinterest for a while."

"Pinterest?" Jeremy asked. "Are you getting married, Eric?"

"Hah," said Eric. "My mom and I pin recipes on it for each other. With her and Coach being in Georgia she and I don't get a lot of time to cook together anymore."

"I thought your Coach lived in Boston with you?" Jeremy asked.

"Oh, ha," said Eric, shaking his head. "No, Coach is my dad. He coaches high school football, which in Georgia is basically like coaching in the NFL. Everyone calls him coach."

"Even you? He's your dad." Eric shrugged his shoulders and started scrolling through a few of the recipes his mother had been pinning since they arrived in Sochi. Not surprisingly, they were all Russian themed. None of them sounded particularly appetizing, and with the state of the kitchenette in the apartment, Eric didn't expect to experiment on any of them while still in the country.

"Does everybody back home call you something?" Jeremy asked. "If everyone calls your dad Coach? Are you Coach Junior?"

"I'm called pretty much everything. My dad calls me Junior, yeah, but my mom calls me Dicky." Eric blushed furiously red when Jeremy's eyebrow shot up into his shaggy blonde hair. "My middle name is Richard, and it's my dad's first name. She's always called me that. She's the only one, though. Katya's always called me Itty Bitty – she's been my coach since I was in kindergarten and I've always been a bit small for my age."

"I'm sorry to tell you this, Eric, but none of those are particularly flattering."

"I know, they're kind of embarrassing. I've never minded being called Bitty, though," Eric said with a shrug. "It's true."

"Do you want me to start calling you Bitty?"

"Just don't call me Golden Boy again."

"Deal."

Eric scrolled through the recipes again until he caught one that wasn't a recipe at all – it was a picture, taken from what looked like the Olympic Website, of Eric's face. Eric checked the description and his mother added a note – _look at you! I'm so proud of you!_ Eric felt the heat return to his cheeks and he clicked on the source; it took him to the figure skating page but, with a surge of disappointment, it also took him to a banner ad for hockey with Jack Zimmermann's face plastered all over it. Eric shut the lid of his computer.

"Do you know anything about Jack Zimmermann?" he asked Jeremy.

"The guy who looked like he was going to murder you yesterday?" Jeremy asked. Eric nodded. "A bit. He plays for Providence. Kind of a robot. He's Bad Bob's kid."

"Who?" Eric asked.

"You don't know Bad Bob?" Jeremy asked, his eyebrows disappearing into his hair again. Eric shook his head and looked down at his closed laptop. "He's one of the greatest hockey players ever. Bob Zimmermann – he played for the Canadiens and the Penguins, won a couple of Stanley Cups. Married some model from the 80's and they had Jack. Jack's been kind of a hockey robot ever since. No one was surprised when he got drafted right out of high school."

"Didn't he overdose or something like that?" Eric asked and he felt ashamed even asking about it.

"I don't know all the details. He got drafted to the Falconers and then, like, a month later suddenly there was news all over the place about him overdosing and in rehab and shit. They bumped him down to the AHL but he was back on the Falconers in a year or two. He's been pretty good ever since. A lot of people like him. I liked him until we actually met him yesterday."

"Yeah, I ran into him again today."

"Like…literally?"

"Yes."

"Bits, you've got to pay attention."

Eric smiled at the nickname, but remembered the look in Jack's eyes when he grabbed Eric's arm as Eric tried to run away and the smile quickly fell off of his face. "That's what he said."

"It's good advice. Look, if you just keep your head up after your events I'm sure you can avoid him from now on. You're on the ice tomorrow – are you ready? Do you want to run through anything?"

"I'm fine," said Eric. "I'll be fine. I think I just want to rest tonight – I'll think about the competition in the morning."

"All right. I don't want to put any weight on your shoulders. I know the press has been doing that enough, but –"

"I'm not worried," said Eric with another shrug. "We got this."

Thirty minutes later Jeremy was snoring and Eric was staring at the ceiling, praying that tomorrow would just go okay.

 

** JACK **

 

"Parse! Left! I told you to go left!"

"The fuck, man? You said you'd fake left but we'd both have to go right."

"No, I explicitly said left."

"You said right. I'd think I'd remember if you said left."

"Um, Cap, you did say right."

Kent and Jack both sent a glare over in Chowder's direction, who backed into his own net and sat down inside of it. Jack softened first and skated over to Chowder before he placed a hand on Chowder's red helmet. "I'm sorry. Get out of there."

"You're not supposed to be in my net, Jack."

"Zimms, get out of the fucking net."

"Parse, seriously, are you going to listen to me or are you going to mess up our play again?" Jack snapped. "How many times have we done it this way?" Kent stared at Jack through the shining plastic of his visor, his mouth tightly closed. Jack shook his head and skated back to the faceoff circle where Toews was waiting to drop the puck. Kent waited to Jack's left and Jack looked back at him. "We're going left."

"Okay, we got it," said Kent, his blonde eyebrows crowding his eyes. "Just do it already."

"All right," said Jack to Toews, his stick at the ready, his eyes on the puck that Toews held just at eye-level. Toews dropped it and Jack reacted, quickly passing the puck to his left where Kent waited. Kent picked it up and Jack turned and followed. Kent lifted his stick for a shot on goal and then, just as it descended, changed direction and passed it back to Jack, waiting just to Kent's right. Jack flicked it to the net where Chowder caught it with the edge of his glove.

"Dammit," said Jack.

"Jack, don't beat yourself up about it," said Shitty, skating up to him from the right. "You're shooting against Chowder – we're playing against Norway first. Their goalie can't catch a damn thing."

"I'm not thinking about Norway," said Jack. "I'm thinking all the way to the end here, guys. This has to work against Chowder-style goalies."

"I almost didn't catch it," said Chowder. Even across the ice Jack could see the smile crinkle his eyes. "I bet if you did it again –"

"Do not flub a save just to make me feel better, Chowder," said Jack.

"I may just be a lowly player on the totem pole of Team Canada," interjected Kent, "but maybe if you passed right we'd have a better chance of it."

"Fine," said Jack. "Fine, we'll go right."

Jack skated back to the red circle and crouched over, keeping Kent in his vision, this time to his right. Kent stood near the boards instead of near center ice and nothing about it seemed familiar; Kent was always in the center when they did this back in the Q. Jack pushed the thought aside and stared at the puck and this time, when Toews released it, he passed right.

Kent caught the puck and sailed inward, Jack flanking him on the left instead. Kent passed it back at the last moment and when Jack flicked it into the net, it sailed over Chowder's glove on the opposite side and hit the back of the net.

"See?" said Kent.

"Chowder?" Jack asked.

"No, no, I really tried, Jack!" said Chowder. "I swear!"

"All right, we'll pass right," said Jack and he ignored the all-too-familiar smirk that crossed Kent's lips. "I think that's enough for today. Shitty, get your skates sharpened before Norway."

"Yes, Captain," said Shitty with a salute. Chowder began flinging the pucks out of his net with his stick and Toews skated forward to start collecting them with Jack. Kent headed back toward the locker room without offering to help.

"Kent?" Jack asked as Kent skated by. Kent looked back but didn't return. Jack skated up to him, physically closer to Kent than he'd been in years. Jack lowered his voice. "Are we going to have a problem here?"

"I don't know, _Captain_ ," said Kent, looking pointedly at the C on Jack's practice jersey, "are we?"

"This isn't about you and me. This is about the game."

"I know what this is about, Jack. We're all here for Canada, right?" Kent skated backward toward the locker room, the stupid smirk back on his lips, his eyes staring directly into Jack's. He finally turned around and began to sing – " _O Canada, terre de nos aieux…_ " Jack stared until he disappeared into the tunnel and then turned back to collect the rest of the pucks.

"Want I should rough him up, Cap?" asked Shitty.

"No, I don't have time to train another left wing," said Jack. "He'll have to stay."

"You sure? I'm no idiot, I can make it look like an accident and ACTUALLY make it look like an accident. No Tonya Harding bullshit over here."

"Thanks, Shits. We'll be fine."

Chowder wanted to check out the pairs skating competition, so he and Toews headed across the park to the Iceberg Skating Palace, but Shitty accompanied Jack back to the Village. After a shower Jack zipped up his Canada fleece, but as soon as they stepped outside, he unzipped it again. "You don't want to check out the skating, Shits? Not your thing?"

"Nah," said Shitty. "I prefer my pairs skating to end with someone losing their teeth, thanks. It's way too safe for me."

"Yeah? Even when they do that death spiral thing?"

"No one conks their head on the ice anymore – not in a competition like this at least. Nothing exciting ever happens in Olympic figure skating." Jack looked over at the arena; despite Jack's request that they wear their Team Canada gear as much as possible, try to become one team while they were in Russia, Chowder still wore his Sharks hoodie underneath his Canada fleece, and the colors clashed terribly. If Jack would let him, Chowder would have drawn sharks on his helmet. There was not another man in the league more proud of his team.

Although it was difficult to tear his gaze away from the eyesore that was a red Canada jacket on top of a teal San Jose Sharks hoodie, Jack found his eyes passing by his teammate and looking at the large arena itself. According to the schedule of events in the pamphlets in everyone's apartment, the next men's event would take the next day as part of the team competition, but the individual events wouldn't take place until Thursday.

"You sure you don't want to watch the figure skating, Cap?" asked Shitty.

"No, just thinking…"

"About that kid the other day?"

"Yeah."

"He fell right on top of Chowder. Granted he probably weighs about five pounds, but you were right. If he's an athlete too he's got to watch where he's going. None of us need to get hurt before our events even start."

"They think he might win," said Jack. "I looked him up. He won the US Championship a few weeks ago."

"Well then he definitely needs to watch where he's going," said Shitty. "Are we going to have to walk all the way back? Can we take the shuttle?"

"Yeah, sure," said Jack.

"How old is he anyway? Twelve? How old do you have to be to compete?"

"He's nineteen." Shitty let out a bark of laughter.

"Yeah, okay," said Shitty.

They walked over to the shuttle stop where three women with Polish flags on their hats sat on the only bench. One of them looked up and then quickly nudged her friend, who also looked up and her eyes widened a bit at the sight of them.

"Are you Jack Zimmermann?" she asked in a heavy accent. Jack smiled politely at them.

"Yes."

"We are big fans," said the woman, nudging her two friends again. They both nodded, but it was clear neither of them spoke English. "Go Falconers!"

"Ha, thanks," said Jack. "What sport do you play?"

"Speed skate," said the woman.

"Oh, awesome," said Jack. "I know my way around the ice but I can't say that I have ever been very fast at it." She laughed and her fingers combed through her long blonde hair.

"Can you sign something?" the woman asked. She rustled through her bag for several seconds before she produced a black marker and handed it to Jack. They had nothing for him to sign, so he ended up signing their Poland hats, which seemed wrong, in a way. All of them said what Jack assumed was "Thank you," but Jack's knowledge of foreign languages was limited to just French and English.

The shuttle pulled up and the five of them got inside, Shitty sitting in the very back of the bus while the three women sat near the middle. Jack sat next to Shitty but Shitty nodded to the women.

"Yo, you should hit that up," whispered Shitty, as much as Shitty could whisper.

"Nah, that's not why I'm here," said Jack.

"Who cares?" Jack shook his head. "Why not? You've got a girl back home or something? Are you still with that model? The one from Brazil?"

"No, that wasn't really serious."

"Then go for it, man! Parse doesn't have a roommate, I can totally crash on his extra bed tonight," said Shitty. "Brah, it's not like she's expecting anything. She's from Poland and she barely speaks English. We're in the bubble - show her a good time and get rid some of that tension you've been carrying around. You seriously need to lighten up." Jack shook his head again. "She's looked back at you twice since we sat down and we haven't even left the park yet." Jack looked up and the beautiful Polish speed skater quickly looked away, over to her friend, and they both started laughing. Jack looked out the window instead and Shitty mumbled something akin to "what a waste."

Neither said anything until the shuttle stopped at the village. The women got out first, but Building C was another stop away. The women exited the shuttle via the rear door, and Jack's new friend smiled at them on her way out. "Thank you," she said, pointing to her hat.

"Nice to meet you," said Jack. She waved again and left the shuttle. Once the doors closed and the bus began to move again, Shitty turned to Jack.

"Oh my God, are you Jack Zimmermann?"

"Shut up, Shitty."

"Can you sign my jock?"

"Oh my God."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi y'all! Thanks for reading!
> 
> Just want to clear up a few things that popped up in comments: Kent and Chowder are now Canadian; Kent plays for the Aces still but Chowder is a goalie on the Sharks. Chowder is also 19 now, the same age as Bitty. Holster and Shitty have dual citizenship; Holster lived with Ransom's family as a teenager and has had dual citizenship since he was 12 or 13. Holster plays for the Toronto Maple Leafs, Ransom plays for the Bruins. Shitty is on the Habs and has only had dual citizenship since he was drafted. Shitty's selection to Team Canada was VERY controversial because of this, but that controversy comes mostly from aggravated fans who felt like their favorite Canadian-born players were overlooked. None of rest of the team actually feels that way. 
> 
> If you have any specific questions or need me to clarify anything else, please ask! I have a lot of notes that didn't actually make it into the fic.


	4. Chapter Three

**BITTY**

Fourth place.

It wasn’t a terrible ranking, nor was it something that completely knocked them out of medal contention, but Eric knew going into the men’s free skate competition that he had a much stronger program than just fourth place.

The media after the event made it worse.

"Eric, fourth place seems to be haunting you," said an American news reporter that Eric wanted to punch in the face, but instead Eric smiled pleasantly at her. "Fourth place at the 2013 World Championship, fourth place in the team free skate, and now the US is fourth place overall. How are you going to approach your individual events on Thursday and Friday after what happened today?"

"It is a bit disappointing that I couldn't get more points for our team," said Eric, hoping southern hospitality would win over the stress he carried after seeing the team's rankings at the end of his event, "but we've got our strongest members yet to go this afternoon. It looks like we're only a couple of points behind, so I would be surprised if we didn't get on the podium today."

"And how are you planning to make up for it later this week?"

"I'm just going to take it one day at a time. Today wasn’t my cleanest skate, but I know I have a really strong program. I know it can win. My knee's been acting up the past few days so I'm going to really focus on that so I can deliver when it counts."

“This has been a program that for the most part has worked out for you this year. You were an obvious choice for the team after US Championship last month. Do you think about that at all when you're out on the ice?"

"No, when I'm out there it's just all about me, about what my coach and I have been working toward for so many years. I put a lot of emotion into this program and I think the judges will respond to it."

"Thanks, Eric, I know that there are a lot of people back home counting on you to deliver on this for the United States."

Eric turned to the camera, his best media smile plastered on his face. "Thank you all! Miss you back home!" He waved at the camera and walked away without being dismissed. Katya waited for him in the tunnel and put her arm around him.

"You did well, Bitty, you shouldn't be upset with your performance today," said Katya with a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. Eric knew her tactics – she was incredibly nice the day of competition but as soon as Eric's emotions steadied themselves out, the criticism began. Eric wasn't sure if it helped. "How is your knee?"

"It's fine," said Eric. "I think I need to work on it before Thursday, though. My landings were clean but they could have been cleaner. Can we watch the rest of the competition?" Katya nodded and pulled him away from the media floor. Eric changed out of his competition costume and zipped up his hideous blue Team USA jacket before they headed out to the athletes' section of the audience. Katya sat next to him and draped her arm around his shoulders as they watched the warm up for ice dance, which would be coming up next.

The American team were heavy favorites for the gold in this event, but Eric watched their program with his hands over his eyes. As soon as their music ended and they began to bow for the audience, Eric jumped out of his chair and screamed for them, which earned him a spot on the Jumbotron. When they left the ice, Eric put his hands over his eyes again and looked at the results board through his fingers. Although the ice dance team placed first in their event, both Jeremy and Eric's detrimental placing kept the overall US team in third place.

"This is good, Eric," said Katya when the final results for the ice dancing free skate were posted. "Gracie's free program is very strong and you're several points ahead of fourth. I think you're going to get your first Olympic medal today."

"Oh my God, Katya, don't jinx it!" Eric yelled into his hands, his eyes still glued to the results board above him.

"Superstition has no merit, Bitty. Only your talent and determination will win competitions."

"Yeah, yeah. Can we get dinner before the women's competition? I have to be down there, don't I, since her program will be the last one?"

"Yes, you should be on the floor for her results. The program doesn't start for another hour, though, so we have time. Do you want a soft pretzel?"

"Lord, yes," said Eric. He followed Katya to the concession stand but stopped before they approached the line. At the end of the line stood Chowder and two of the other players from the Canadian hockey team. "Katya, do we have time to get real food? I don't know if I should be eating hot dogs and nachos…"

"You are not eating hot dogs and nachos, you are eating a soft pretzel and the dinner I brought for you." Eric frowned but Katya stepped into line directly behind Chowder. Eric stood by the wall and when she beckoned him over he shook his head. "Eric, come here."

Chowder turned around and saw Eric pressed against the wall and, unfortunately, elbowed the tall blonde man next to him, who also looked over.

"Hey, you're Eric Bittle!" said the blonde man. Katya looked up at them and then back at Eric, her eyebrow raised in question. Eric walked over and the blonde man grabbed him around the shoulders, causing panic that froze Eric to the floor. "You did great today! Chowder made us come watch you!"

"These people have no idea what they're talking about!" said Chowder, "I mean, I don't understand the scoring at all – why do you have two scores? You didn't even fall like that other guy so why did he get third and you got fourth? Doesn't falling automatically take points off?"

"Um…" said Eric, "yeah, but…"

"Eric," said the blonde man, "as someone born in the United States, despite living in Canada now, it is my solemn duty to cheer for you. If you need me to crack some skulls, I'm totally capable of doing that." Since Eric was only eye level with his chest, Eric had no doubt that the man could actually crack someone's skull.

"Um," said Eric again, "I'm sorry, I don't know –"

"Oh, sorry, bro!" said blonde man. He let go of Eric and Eric stood closer to Katya, who watched with mild amusement. "I'm Holster. D-man for Team Canada. You met Chowder, obviously, but do you know Ransom? This is my best bro and Canadian equivalent, Ransom."

"Hi, thanks, but I was actually going to ask why you're all being so nice to me?"

"Dude," said the man named Ransom, and Eric found himself being pulled close to yet another hockey player. Ransom was a bit shorter than Holster, but Eric still had to crane his neck at this proximity to be able to see into Ransom's dark eyes. It was incredibly uncomfortable and Eric looked back down at his feet. "Don't worry about what happened the other day. Chowder's fine, right Chowder?"

"Yup!" said Chowder happily.

"Jack gets really intense before he plays. Just ignore him. I'm sure he'll feel bad about it and apologize to you at some point. I'm so glad that we ran into you! Are you getting nachos? I heard the nachos here are magic."

"Uh, no, just a pretzel," said Eric.

"Ah, I see," said Holster. "Chowder has issues with cheese too."

"I do not! I just had an issue that one time."

"Yeah, and every time we've had dairy since," said Holster, and he turned back to Eric. "It's really not pretty, man. I'd stay as far away as possible."

"I just really like dairy, okay?" Chowder whispered.

"Yeah but dairy does not like you, bro," said Ransom. Eric glanced at Katya. "Oh, sorry, is this your mom? Hi, I'm Ransom –"

"This is my coach, Katya," said Eric. "Katya, you know them as well as I do otherwise I'd introduce you."

"We are offended, bro!" said Holster. "Ma'am, Eric and us go way back. Like, even before the opening ceremony. We're practically brothers at this point. Eric – do you think you're going to get a medal tonight? I think you are."

"Don't jinx it!" said Chowder.

"Dude, dude, they're five points ahead. What's-her-face would basically have to not show up tonight. Are you excited? A lot of people are saying Team Canada might go all the way but I don't know. We do have both Jack Zimmermann and Kent Parson, so it's not like we're hurting for talent or anything."

"Oh, Jack Zimmermann is on your team?" Katya asked and Eric felt his face go red at the mention of him. "I watched his father play when I was young. Bitty, your mother liked him too."

"Bitty?" Holster asked. "Is that your nickname, bro?"

"I love it!" yelled Ransom. "Listen, if you're going to hang out with hockey dudes you have to have a nickname. Christopher Chow becomes Chowder, Adam Birkholtz becomes Holster, and yours truly is Justin Oluransi. Ransom for short. Kind of. Justin is just as long. Nobody calls me Justin though."

"Who even is Justin?" asked Holster.

"Hey! Are you guys going to order?"

Everyone turned to the concession stand where an impatient volunteer stood with his arms open, waiting for the overly friendly men's hockey team to move up in line.

 

***

 **Eric Bittle** @omgcheckplease  
So blessed. So, so blessed. #TeamUSA #Sochi2014  
  


 ***

 

Eric closed the door of the bedroom without turning on the light. Jeremy was still out – would probably be out all night – but Eric excused himself just after the ceremony to return to the Village. It was dark in the room and very quiet, since the entire apartment was empty too, but Eric stood just on the inside of the door, his fingertips pressed against the white faux wood, and closed his eyes. When he opened them again he could just see the outline of the medal around his neck, the moonlight through the window cascading pale light on the circle of bronze. He touched his fingertips to it, still in awe that it was there, it was his, and he had helped earn it.

Despite the stillness of his apartment, he cried silent tears, holding the medal to his forehead and repeating over and over again in his mind _Olympic Medalist, Eric Bittle._

 

**JACK**

 

"Yo, Cap, are you coming to lunch?"

Jack pulled his shirt over his head before he turned to see Shitty, Ransom, Holster, and Chowder waiting for him near the exit of the locker room.

"Yeah, give me a minute to finish getting dressed. We just going to the cafeteria?"

"No, we're going into the city to celebrate Bitty's medal last night."

"Bitty?" Jack asked, his eyebrows scrunching as he internally ran through the twenty-five names on their roster. "Which one is Bitty? Are we calling Marty Bitty now?" Jack sat down to pull on his sneakers.

"No, Bitty. Eric Bittle, the skater?"

Jack missed his sneaker and his foot slammed into the floor, earning him a few smirks and a "Nice, Cap," from Shitty.

"Why are we going to lunch with an American figure skater?"

"Because the purpose of the Olympic games is to unite the countries of the world in the spirit of competition," said Shitty, "and to promote international magical cooperation. To make friends."

Everyone paused and looked at Shitty.

"International magical cooperation?" Ransom asked.

"It's from Harry Potter, okay?" yelled Shitty. "Look, Cap, the dude is cool and he just won a medal. We're taking him out to lunch."

"All right," said Jack.

Eric – or Bitty – was waiting outside the rink in his USA toque, coat, and mittens. The weather had finally cooled down but it was still above freezing. Bitty looked to be on the cusp of what was tolerable weather for him. Ransom and Holster each gave him a one-armed hug, causing Bitty to blush, but then he caught eyes with Jack and the smile sank from his lips.

"Oh, hi," he said. "Are you coming to lunch with us?"

"Yes," said Jack. "They said you won a medal."

"I didn't win the medal," said Bitty, "I mean, I helped, a little, and by a little I mean really a little because I ended up in fourth place and that is not acceptable, but it was a team medal. So yeah, we won bronze."

"Congratulations."

"Thank you, Jack."

A half an hour later the six of them sat at a small restaurant in Sochi, staring awkwardly at menus written in Russian. The restaurant itself smelled heavenly; as soon as they stepped inside Jack's mouth began to water and he realized that their practice that morning had gone longer than usual, and he was in fact starving. The table to the right of them had a plate of rice with meat on top of it that looked very good, but Jack had no way to decipher what it was on the menu.

"Are these in, like, hieroglyphics?" Holster asked.

"Dude, no, it's Cyrillic," said Shitty.

"How are we supposed to know what to order?" Ransom asked.

"Y'all smelled this place when you walked in, didn't you?" Bitty asked. "I bet if you just point and pray you'll get something good."

A young woman with her blonde hair pulled into a bun on top of her head approached the table with a pad of paper and a pen. She looked at Chowder first, who sat closest to her. "Что вы хочешь выпить?"

"Um…what?" asked Chowder.

She looked around the table; Jack, Holster, and Ransom all wore their Team Canada zip-up jackets and Bitty's toque was adorned with very American stars and stripes.

"Ah," she said. "English, then?"

"Yes please," said Chowder.

"What you want to drink? If just say water I bring you vodka."

"Water, please," said Holster but after a glare from Jack, he frowned and switched his response to just "Coke." The rest of the table ordered Coke as well now that Holster had confirmed that Coke was an acceptable option.

"Most of menu is rice and meat – pork or chicken or steak. All very good. Best dish is this," she pointed to the first dish in the middle section of Jack's menu. "It's, how you say in English? It's creamy rice. Soft rice."

"Like a risotto?" Bitty asked.

"Yes, same word then! Risotto with mushroom."

"I'm sold," said Bitty. "Mushroom risotto for me."

Jack pointed at random to his menu. The waitress described it, Jack nodded, and most of the rest of the team followed suit. When she returned with their drinks, Bitty sipped his Coke through the straw and sat hunched in his chair – he was already considerably shorter than anyone else at the table, and his posture made him even smaller. As Ransom and Holster began to loudly recap their cab ride to the restaurant as if no one else at the table had been there, Bitty quieted and sneaked glances at Jack as if Jack wasn't sitting directly in front of him.

"Has it sunk in yet?" Jack asked.

"Hmm?" Bitty asked.

"The medal. Has it sunk in yet that you have an Olympic medal?"

A faint blush appeared at the top of Bitty's cheeks. "No. Can you say it again to make sure I'm not dreaming right now?"

"You have an Olympic bronze medal."

"Lord," said Bitty. He pulled his toque further down his forehead to cover his eyes. "I swear I'm still at home in my bed. I'm going to wake up and it'll be January before nationals."

"You're here, Bitty," said Holster with a nudge into Bitty's ribcage. Bitty recoiled.

"Where's home for you?" Jack asked.

"Boston."

"WHAT?" Ransom yelled across the table. "Dude, you know I play for the Bruins, right?"

"Oh really?" Bitty asked. "That's so cool! We went to a game as part of freshman orientation last year and - please absolutely no one hit me - but I never got that into hockey. I like it, I've seen it, but I'm from Georgia. It's football or die down there."

"So are you just in school in Boston, then?" Jack asked.

"I go to Samwell."

“Samwell?” Jack asked. “Samwell University?” Bitty nodded but looked embarrassed. “My mom went there. I would’ve gone there if I didn’t get drafted. It’s a good school.”

“Yeah, it is,” said Bitty, nodding. He smiled for the first time since he saw Jack outside the Bolshoy Ice Dome. It was a very endearing, small sort of smile, as if Bitty were incredibly proud of his association with the school but too modest to admit it. Jack smiled back at him, just the same sort of soft lip curl, until Ransom leaned over Holster and stuck his face in between their gaze.

"I know where Samwell is," said Ransom. "It's like a half hour from the Garden. You should come to a game when we get back."

"Yeah, okay," said Bitty.

About ten minutes later the waitress set a plate of cut sausage atop green rice in front of Jack, and most of the table received a variation of the same. Bitty's risotto looked and smelled the most appetizing of them all, but when Jack took a bite his eyes closed and he sat back in his chair, overwhelmed.

"Shit this shit is good," said Shitty.

"I have no idea what I'm eating, but this is amazing!" said Chowder.

Ransom and Holster each tasted their own food before crossing arms and tasting each other's.

Bitty, his fork in his mouth as if he didn't want to waste a morsel of his dinner, looked around the restaurant and landed eyes on a circular glass display with several shelves of pie. "Oh my God, they have pie here," he said. "I bet it's good."

"I don't really like pie," said Chowder.

"What is wrong with you, Chowder? Pie is the best!" yelled Ransom.

"Well you must not have had any good pie, then," said Bitty, and Chowder looked worried when he realized that this seemed to offend Bitty.

"I'm sorry –"

"What team do you – never mind, I'm assuming you play for the Sharks," said Bitty. Chowder had on his Sharks hoodie again and had managed to accessorize it with his Sharks baseball hat as well. "Listen, when we get back to the States I will overnight you pie. My pie will change your life."

"You make pie?" Holster asked with his mouth full of steak.

"Yeah, it's something my mama and I have always done together," said Bitty. "I've been making pie longer than I've been skating."

"Can you make us a pie tonight? Do you have to practice? When is your event?" Chowder asked. "Is that rude? I don't want to just make you make us a pie."

"I would but the kitchen in my apartment is awful. It doesn't have any pie plates or mixing bowls or ingredients. I’m actually positive it doesn’t even have silverware."

"We will stop at the store on the way home and buy ingredients and pie plates and mixing bowls and silverware," said Ransom. "I will buy you ingredients and pie plates and mixing bowls and silverware if you make us pie."

"I'm sure we can just have pie here –"

"–No!" interrupted Ransom, and an hour later they all sat in the apartment in Building C watching from the counter while Bitty rolled out crust for his pie. The waitress from the restaurant directed them to a local market for the berries, and the berry seller at the market directed them to a store for additional supplies. The whole trip cost Ransom over ten thousand rubles, to which Ransom asked "Is that a lot? Did I just spend ten grand on pie?"

Jack watched Bitty maneuver in their small kitchen. Despite the less than adequate conditions and another roadblock at every turn ("What's the conversion rate between Centigrade and Fahrenheit?" "We didn't buy a sifter!" "Do you think these eggs are actually fresh?"), Bitty mixed together berries and rolled out dough and whirled designs into the edge of the crust before he latticed a top layer and placed a pie in the oven, a second ready to go.

"There's a bunch of you and if lunch was any indication, something tells me y'all'll want more than one slice of pie," said Bitty, dusting the flour off his hands and into the sink. He began to run a dish sponge over the counters to clean up the mess he left behind while assembling two blackberry pies for six salivating hockey players.

"Yeah and Parse isn't even home yet," said Chowder.

"Who's Parse?" Bitty asked.

"Kent Parson," said Chowder. "He's our starting left wing."

"Oh," said Bitty and his eyes flickered immediately to Jack.

Jack felt a heavy weight slide down his throat and into his stomach. It was silly to think that Bitty, mostly unfamiliar with hockey, wouldn't have done at least a bit of research after Jack accosted him on more than one occasion, but Jack had hoped he could find a clean slate with at least one person in Sochi. Whatever information Bitty had on Kent, it was skewed by the media over several years of rivalry and speculation.

Kent showed up just as Bitty was taking the first pie out of the oven. He took one look at the kitchen, at Bitty with his hands in mitts and a steaming golden-brown pie in his hands, and raised his eyebrows.

"Who the fuck is this?"

"Parse," warned Jack. "This is Bitty."

"Why is there pie?"

"Um, I like to make pie," explained Bitty, turning bright red.

"Yeah, okay," said Kent before he walked across the apartment and disappeared into his room, slamming the door behind him. Bitty looked at him go and then looked back at Jack, who just shook his head.

"He's not very friendly right now," said Jack. "I'll talk to him later. That smells good."

"Let it cool a bit before you eat it. The last thing you want is to burn your mouth off on hot pie." Bitty set the pie on the counter and placed the other one in the oven before he removed his oven mitts and began to search the drawers for a pie server (there wasn't one, so he grabbed a knife and several forks), and a few plates.

Once cooled, Jack took his first bite of blackberry pie. Ransom looked close to tears, Chowder had eaten his entire slice already, and Shitty knocked over his chair, ran around the counter, and trapped Bitty in a tight hug.

"I guess it's good?" asked Bitty.

"I think that means it's good," said Jack, laughing at Shitty, who had yet to let go of Bitty. Ransom wiped a tear from his eye and then, as if just realizing, brightened considerably and said:

"Oh my God, Bitty, you live in Boston! I can get unlimited pie!"

"Sure, Rans," said Bitty with a laugh. "Whatever you want."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, the US uniforms for the 2014 Sochi Olympics were hideous. Check out them out [here](https://goo.gl/images/XaD5ee) and [here](https://goo.gl/images/JOkkvK). Team Canada was better; check it out [here](https://goo.gl/images/OZqU7x).


	5. Chapter Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks as always to luckiedee for her awesome beta work. You are the best!

**BITTY**

 

Spinning was by far Eric's favorite part of figure skating. Jumps and steps were exciting, but even at a young age, spinning was a regular pastime in the Bittle household. Eric remembered sitting on a swing in the backyard and his mother would twist him around and around until there was no room left on the chain, then Eric would unwind with increasing speed. He learned on that swing set how to control the rotation and how tucking in his legs would result in the fastest spins. Over time the practice on the swing and Katya's relentless twirling drills caused Eric to build up a significant tolerance to the momentum and number of revolutions. Eric was not nearly the smallest skater in the men's individual competition but his shape worked in his favor and this competition was not the first time he heard a commentator, or the press coverage, identify his speed as a significant advantage.

Press coverage occurred almost daily after practice now, gearing up for Eric's events on Thursday and Friday, and each one of them seemed to follow the same theme: "Japan's Yuzuru Hanyu currently holds the world record in the men's individual short program and the last time you competed against him, he took the third place spot, leaving you in fourth. Neither the gold or silver medalists from Worlds are at the Olympics this year. How do you defeat him and come out on top?"

"I think it's just doing my best," said Eric once again, after the third day of practice and the third day of the same questions from interviewers. "We won bronze in the team event which is more than I could have ever dreamed would happen. I'd be happy just to stand on the podium."

"You're having the best season of your career. You took home gold in the US Championship just a few weeks ago. Do you think you can get gold here?"

"I'm not thinking about gold. I'm just thinking about a clean skate and having fun."

"What would it mean, though? To take home gold?"

"It would mean a lot. It'd be the culmination of a lot of hard work."

Eric changed out of his skates and into his tennis shoes on the side of the rink. Katya sat next to him and returned each of his skates to his equipment bag. Practice was over for the day for Team USA, but Japan had the rink next and Eric could see Yuzuru land quad after quad on the ice. Yuzuru was graceful, evocative, and clean. Every jump landed on the correct edge, near vertical, and spanned several feet. Eric's quadruple toe loop and triple toe loop combination wowed every time. He could land it in his sleep and, maybe by next year, could up it to a double quad. His height was there, the speed was there, but he just needed to work on it. Yuzuru, though, knew what he needed to do to keep his base score as high as possible so if he did make mistakes, he could still take gold.

"Do you think I can win, Katya?" Eric asked quietly after he pulled on both his shoes. The media were still nearby and he didn't want to risk the chance of being overheard.

"I think you should not think about that, my Itty Bitty, and instead think about your edges." Eric picked up his gear bag and stood, Katya close by.

"Yeah, but do you think I can win?"

"Yes, my dear," said Katya, and she patted him stiffly on the cheek. "You can win."

Eric did not feel very encouraged.

He checked his phone once in the park again and felt a smile crinkle up the corner of his mouth. His mother was going to murder him once she saw the amount of texts that had come in, but the past few days had completely changed his perspective on the large and loud Canadian hockey team. 

  
**Ransom**  
     Pie?

 **Holster**  
     Pie?

 **Jack**  
     Do not let them convince you to make pie.

 **Shitty**  
     Don't listen to Jack. Pie?

 **Chowder**  
     Do you want to hang out after practice?

 **Chowder**  
     And maybe make pie?

 **Chowder**  
     THAT WAS RANSOM, NOT ME, I DO NOT WANT YOU TO FEEL FORCED TO MAKE PIE.

 

Eric looked up, just in case he was going to run into one of them again, but the way to the Village shuttle was clear, so he replied directly to Jack:

 

 **Eric**  
     You don't like my pie?

 

Jack replied right away; they all must have been out of practice already.

  
**Jack**  
     No, your pie is great.

 **Eric**  
     Then why don't you want me to make you pie?

 **Jack**  
      I just don't want them getting lazy and sluggish off too much sugar. Prelims start tomorrow.

 **Eric**  
     You're no fun :(

 **Jack**  
     Okay, one pie.

 **Eric**  
     :) :) :)

 **Jack**  
     I like apples.

 **Eric**  
     Well you're in luck, my friend. Mama found an apple vendor near her hotel.

 **Jack**  
     :)

 

Building C was practically connected to Building D, but there was no actual bridge between the two. There was an elevator in Building D, but it had been out of order since the games began, so Eric trudged up to the fifth floor to drop off his gear bag and pick up his sack of apples before he could descend the stairs again and enter Building C, which thankfully had a working elevator. When Eric knocked on 7B, Jack opened the door and immediately looked at the bag in Eric’s arms.

"Those look great," he said. "You really don't have to do this, you know. The boys like you enough that you can hang out without feeling obligated to make pie."

"The boys do?" Eric asked. "And what about you, Mr. Zimmermann?"

"I still think you need to watch where you're going," Jack replied, but the smirk on his face betrayed him and Eric swung the bag of apples in his direction. "Hey!"

Ransom and Holster were playing a hockey video game while Shitty watched from the couch, wearing nothing but a pair of red boxer briefs. Eric averted his eyes and headed into the kitchen instead.

"Where's Chowder?"

"He's actually down the hall," said Jack. "He's sharing a room with Pick."

"Pick?"

"Pickles. Marc Vlasic, his teammate from the Sharks. Parse is the only lucky one who got out of having a roommate, but between you and me it would have been easier if they just gave him his own apartment."

"Does he not get along with any of you?" Eric asked. He picked out a knife from the drawer and began to peel the apples.

"It's not that. He's actually a really great guy when you get to know him. It's just…I don't think the games are turning out the way he wanted them to."

"You haven't even started playing yet." Jack shrugged his shoulders and didn't respond. "Okay, so I get to be Bitty, we've also got Parse, Pick and Chowder, there's Shitty, Ransom and Holster… What's your nickname, Jack?"

"Jack is lame and doesn't get a nickname," yelled Shitty, much louder than necessary to bridge the space between the living room and the kitchen in the tiny apartment. The hockey apartments were the same size as Eric’s, but it appeared, at least, that they had three completely finished bedrooms. Shitty sat on the couch no more than ten feet away.

"Aw, I think we can come up with something," said Eric. "Jackie?"

"No," said Jack.

"Yeah, I guess everyone else's is off their last name. Zimmers? Zimmy? Zimms?"

"I'm just Captain. I don't need a nickname," said Jack, his face turning dark. Without another word Jack walked over to the couch and sat down next to Shitty. Eric looked down at his apples and didn't speak to Jack again.

 

**JACK**

 

"There's just one period left, guys, and we're up by two," said Jack to a team of unnecessarily cocky hockey players, "but that doesn't mean this game is won. We all know how quickly this game moves. Make every minute count and keep the puck in our control as much as possible. If we win faceoffs and wind down the clock we've got this. You ready?"

"YES CAP!" shouted the team.

"Let's get back out there and win this," said Jack. He stood out the door, his knuckles out, and all twenty-four other players bumped him back on the way out. All twenty-four apart from Kent Parson, who passed without a word and snapped the strap on his helmet to avoid contact with Jack. Jack looked back into the tunnel at their team manager and Coach Babcock. Lardo, their team manager, had seen the interaction but shook her head at Jack. Jack let it go and followed his team back out to the ice.

Despite what Jack said, it would take a miracle for Norway to come back from a two goal deficit, especially since their shots on goal were barely at twenty and Chowder had easily saved every one. The game wasn't over, though; they still had an entire period left to play and the team seemed overconfident. Prelims were broken out into four groups for a reason, so higher seeded teams could advance to the more exciting rounds, but the team that played the first forty minutes of hockey of the Olympic Games did not look like a team ready for the gold medal match on February twenty-third. Shifts were messy and the second line missed an easy shot because the centre was sloppy getting out of the box; Ransom and Holster let people slide by when they could have easily checked and stolen the puck back; and Kent… Kent seemed like he wished he could be anywhere else, and physically was everywhere except where Jack wanted him to be.

Two minutes into the third period, the Norwegian centre and left wing skated right by Holster and tapped one in glove side.

"Fuck," cursed Jack and he skated to center ice to take the next drop. He looked for Kent over his right shoulder but Kent wasn't there. "Parse!" he yelled. "To the right!"

"I thought it was to the left, Cap," said Kent.

"Just get to the right, Parse," said Jack. Kent skated to the right and leaned over, waiting for the puck to drop. He won the faceoff easily and slipped it to Kent, who thankfully picked it up and headed across Jack toward the left as the entire offensive line headed to the Norway defense to answer their goal.

Kent looked back at Jack and Jack was there, flanking just to his left. Kent lifted his stick, looked back at Jack, and took the shot. It plinked off the right post and into the net. Shitty skated to Kent for the celly, but Kent stared right back at Jack, standing in the center of the dots, as the rest of the first line crowded Kent for a hug.

After the game most of the team wanted to stay behind and celebrate their 3-1 victory over Norway, but Jack reminded them, "We have a game tomorrow and another on Sunday. Go home and get some rest. There will be time to celebrate later." Jack and the rest of his line returned to their shared apartment in Building C and, per usual, Kent walked directly to his room and shut the door behind him. Jack looked at Shitty, who shrugged his shoulders and went to the kitchen for leftover pie. Jack headed directly to Kent's room and didn't bother to knock before he barged inside.

Kent was just taking off his shirt and turned around when Jack entered. When he saw Jack at the door, the smirk on his face returned, the same smirk Jack knew from Juniors, the same smirk Jack wanted to punch right off his pretty little face.

"What the fuck is your problem, Parse?"

"Nothing, Cap," said Kent. "Get out of my room."

"No."

"Then say what you came to say."

"You've been avoiding me since camp."

"I've been avoiding you?" Kent asked, drawing closer. "You've been avoiding me! You never speak to me outside of practice. You shut me out and go have playdates with your line and your little skater friend and don't even care."

"You come in your room after every practice and ignore the rest of us."

"I said hello to you the very first day of camp. 'Hi Zimms, how's it been? Think the Falconers are going all the way this year? You're getting close.' And you know what you said?" Kent advanced further and Jack took a step back to avoid him. "Nothing. You looked at me and then you turned around and there was nothing. I know when to take a hint."

"I wasn't purposely avoiding you."

"But you did and you always do! You blame me for what happened and I see it in your eyes every single time I look at you."

Jack stepped away again but there was nowhere else to go; his back hit the door and Kent stared directly into his eyes. They were gray again. They weren't always gray; sometimes they were brown, sometimes they were green, but rarely gray. They were gray that morning –

_Jack? Oh my God, Jack, wake up. Don't be dead. Please don't be dead, I need you. Jack, please. Jack. Jack._

_Jack, I love you._

_Come back._

_Please._

"I don't blame you," whispered Jack. Kent turned, took another shirt out of his bag, and put it on. He sat down on the white bed and it creaked ominously under his weight. Kent stared at his hands in his lap but looked up at Jack before he spoke again, and Jack remembered that move. Jack remembered standing at Kent's bedroom door like this, uncertain but hungry, and Kent would flick his hair out of his eyes and smile at Jack, and Jack would cross the room in three steps.

"I was the one who found you," said Kent. "I just wanted to hang out and you were on the floor and I couldn't wake you up."

"I know," said Jack and he looked at the white wall because it wasn't Kent.

"And you just let me worry about you. They wouldn't let me visit you in the hospital and then I had to go to Vegas and you never talked to me again. You just disappeared."

"You knew where I was."

"Yeah, in fucking rehab. Alone. In the AHL. Alone. I may not have been in Louisville with you but I could have been. Any day off I could have been."

"But you – you were the golden boy. I was barely scraping by in the minors at the beginning. I needed to get my head on straight after everything that happened."

"And getting your head back in the game meant ignoring me? Forgetting about me?"

"Yes," Jack whispered. Kent nodded, his nose crunching in disdain.

"Yeah. Right. Of course. Well, don't expect me to fall right back into things with you, Jack. I tried it and you shut me out. Just let me get through these games and that'll be that. I doubt they'll invite me back for 2018 so you can have your C again and –"

"Do not even begin with the Captain shit. Everyone voted. You voted."

"I didn't vote for you," Kent said with a mirthless laugh, staring at his hands again.

"And neither did I. Not that it makes it okay."

"Just leave me be, Zimms. We've both done things we regret and neither of us are sorry. It doesn't mean we have to be friends again." Kent sniffed. "If we were ever friends to begin with."

"We were friends," said Jack, "but we weren't just friends."

"Right. And I don't think we can be just friends." Kent looked back over at Jack, his eyes empty. Whatever Jack had seen in the moments before he passed out, lying cold and scared on the floor of the bathroom of his parent's house in Montreal, all of that was gone. Kenny Parse was gone and Jack didn't know whoever sat in front of him. Jack sighed and put his hand on the doorknob.

"Do you want any pie?"

"No," said Kent, a real laugh in his voice for the first time. "But thanks."

"You're welcome, Parse."

Jack exited the room and shut the door behind him. Three sets of eyes turned back to the television as if they hadn't been listening hard, trying to capture any part of the conversation without blatantly eavesdropping. Jack crossed the living room and entered his bedroom, where he also shut the door behind him.

 

***

 

Bitty's first individual event was that evening. The boys wanted to go to the arena and watch, but Jack convinced them with leftover pie that it would be more fun to stay in the apartment and watch it on television instead. Jack mostly didn't want to deal with the crowd after the event since figure skating was arguably the most popular sport at the Winter Olympics and even the athletes’ section at the arena was more than likely sold out.

"I think I need someone to explain this to me," said Shitty immediately after he stuffed half a slice of apple pie into his mouth, spewing crumbs over his bare chest and also the carpeting, "how do they spin so fast without getting dizzy?"

"Bitty says they just get used to it," said Chowder from his spot on the floor.

"God, Chowder, I told you not to stretch in front of us like that," said Ransom, closing one eye and covering Chowder's spread legs with his hands. "I'm glad you can bust your nuts with the splits and all but don't make the rest of us vicariously feel your pain." Chowder folded his legs together and frowned.

"So is Bitty supposed to win this or what?" Holster asked.

"If you all would shut it for two seconds maybe we could hear what they're saying about him on television," said Jack before he turned up the volume. Two commentators were on screen in a press box, several skaters in the background warming up on the ice. Jack vaguely recognized the man and woman as figure skaters from previous Olympic games but had absolutely no idea what either of their names were.

"Do you think we're in for any surprises tonight?" said the man to the woman, who shrugged her shoulders before she looked into the camera.

"It's hard to say. The short program is definitely Japan's program to lose. Hanyu holds the world record in this event but we've seen him slip up a few times. I was watching warm ups earlier and he looked to be on fire, but I could tell he's had a few issues landing his jumps. If he skates clean tonight there's no doubt he'll go into the free skate tomorrow with a wide berth."

"What about Eric Bittle? We didn't see his short program during team competition since they put in Jeremy Abbott – a mistake on the US's part, since Abbott came in seventh. Bittle came in a disappointing fourth to Hanyu at Worlds last year but won the US Championship this year. Does he have enough in this short program to really put himself in contention for gold?"

"I think he does. Is he going to come in first tonight? No, probably not. Hanyu would have to make some serious errors to give up the top spot going into the free skate. I think what Bittle has to do tonight is rely on the basics. Jump high, spin fast, and don't fall."

"Spin fast indeed. Something that stood out at Worlds last year was Bittle's speed. His rotations on his camel spin and his sit spin are both considerably faster and more controlled than anyone else out there tonight. Is that a disadvantage when the big bonus points just aren't seen there?"

"It's not a disadvantage at all. What Bittle lacks in base value he makes up for in several other ways. Hanyu may have a more electric short program, more jumps stacked in the second half where he can get an additional bonus off of them, but we can't fault Bittle for style. His skating skills are smooth and elegant. This piece tonight too is an emotional one – something much different than we're used to seeing from our boy who loves his pop music."

"Yeah and we'll see that program again tomorrow," said the man. "Talk about electrifying – there's a reason the US put Bittle in over Abbott for the free skate in the team competition."

"Does he do the same routine twice?" Jack asked.

"Yeah," said Chowder, looking over his shoulder at Jack. "They have one short program and one free skate and they just do the same thing all season."

"What's the difference?"

"The short program is shorter," said Chowder.

"Thanks for clearing that up, brah," said Shitty.

"It is! The short program is under three minutes and I think the free skate is four and a half. Farmer knows more."

"When's your girl getting here, Chow?" asked Ransom.

"Tomorrow morning before our next prelim. We're watching his free skate at the arena tomorrow. She hasn't stopped talking about it and when I told her we know Bitty she freaked out." Jack looked at the screen; the skaters were still warming up, but the camera was on them again. He had no idea who the other skaters were and which countries they represented since everyone was in a costume instead of country colors, but the camera caught Bitty just as he jumped, spun several times in the air, and landed on one foot, his arms out, his hair bouncing, a small smile on his lips. Jack stared as he skated backwards and then hopped onto his other foot and began to spin.

"Jesus," said Shitty. "I would be puking everywhere."

"That's why you play hockey, Shits," said Ransom.

They had to wait through five other performances before it was Bitty's turn, and while the entire team in the living room clapped when his name was announced, the tension in the air was palpable. Jack didn't quite understand this skating thing yet, but Yuzuru Hanyu broke his own world record and according to the commentators, nobody had a strong enough program to match it.

"Up next is Eric Bittle," said the commentator, who Jack had learned was named Johnny after watching the other five skaters. Bitty spoke to his coach at the side of the rink, their voices too low for the microphone to pick up. "And this is a completely different performance than what we just saw from Hanyu. If Hanyu was electric, this skate from Bittle is heartbreaking. Bittle described his program as 'the morning after an argument, when you replay in your mind everything you said and did and wish you could go back in time to make it right again.' Let's see how accurate that is."

Bitty stood in the center of the ice, hugging himself with his arms and looking down. Jack had seen Bitty in this posture before when the team went to lunch, but then he was freezing. This hug came from a completely different place, although it wouldn't be a surprise if Bitty was freezing in the arena too. He wore a white button-up shirt and gray pants and was more than likely going for the illusion of sleepwear, but he looked entirely too formal for bed.

Jack leaned forward as soon as Bitty looked up at the soft introduction of his music and then began to cover the ice in wide, sweeping steps, but every close up of his face showed pain that Jack had seen in himself very recently but, as he continued to stare at Bitty's delicate motions, Jack found that he couldn't look away.

"God, I want to give him a hug," said Shitty.

"So when does he jump – holy shit, he just jumped twice in a row," said Holster.

"How many times around with that?" asked Chowder.

"Quad toe triple toe," said Johnny on television. "Excellent height on both, knees just a little shaky on the landing."

Bitty began to spin at the swell of the music, stepping out of it in time with violins and transitioning into another jump that caused Holster to whoop loudly, which caused the rest of the team to jump in their seats. Ransom pushed Holster off the couch.

"Textbook triple lutz; no one does the triple lutz better than Eric Bittle," said Johnny. "His other jumps are coming along – we'll see a triple axel…yep, there it is. He's got the height, he's got the distance, he just needs to work on his knees more coming out of them. Again, his speed here is the differentiator. No one can catch him in a lap around the rink, and his finesse, his musical interpretation, is excellent. Judges are critical on jumps and they'll be critical here today, but he makes up for it in his component score. Component scores are an average of all the judges, but Bittle receives more tens in Skating Skills, Interpretation, and Choreography than I think anyone else in this competition, man or woman."

"And then he does this," said the female commentator whose name Jack still didn't know, "this is a deliberate choice. You mentioned his speed, Johnny, well here he intentionally slows the speed of his final camel spin."

Bitty was spinning in the center of the rink, his torso and left leg perpendicular to his right leg, parallel to the ice, his right hand on his heart, perfectly in time with the piano melody of the music. "So difficult to stay in control," said Johnny, "and so risky; the judges want you to be as fast as possible in these spins."

Jack watched Bitty's face, counting the revolutions, and even from this distance, and this far into his program, the pain was still there in his expression. After the eighth rotation, Bitty straightened, placed his left foot on the ice and ended in a crouch, his arms around his legs, his face in his knees.

"Beautiful," said Johnny. "Beautiful routine."

Bitty straightened up and began his bows, several US flags visible in the audience. Jack looked over to his side to see Shitty frowning as he struggled to hold back tears.

"Crying a bit there, eh?" Jack asked.

"Fuck you, Jack Zimmermann," replied Shitty.

Jack looked back at the screen; Bitty sat on a bench with Katya in front of the white Olympic rings, gripping a brown stuffed bunny that more than likely was thrown at him, overall looking very anxious. Katya placed her hand on his knee and he visibly relaxed, but then, just as quickly, everything returned when an overhead announcement asked, "May I have the scores please?"

The bar crossed the bottom of the screen and Bitty broke into a big smile, crinkling the corners of his eyes and showing all of his teeth as Katya threw her arms around him – 97.52, putting him in second place by four points but above third by a margin of eleven points. Bitty hugged Katya back before he looked directly into the camera and waved, the satisfied smile etched on his face.

On the other side of the camera on the couch in Building C, Jack Zimmermann felt a heavy weight slide down his throat and sink into his stomach at the sight of Bitty's smile.

 _Shit_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Watch Yuzuru Hanyu's World Record short program skate [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Bk6qrBrqAqo).
> 
> Bitty's short program song is Raein by Olafur Arnalds which you can watch [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0lJqfSkcgOc) (and if you're part of the Sherlock fandom like me you might recognize it from a popular fan video). The animation in this video inspired a lot of what Bitty's performance looks like in my mind.
> 
> And yes, the commentators are Johnny Weir and Tara Lipinski. Jack has no idea who they are.


	6. Chapter Five

**BITTY**

 

Eric stood outside the boards when Jeremy fell again. Eric drew in a sharp intake of breath like he always did when he witnessed a fall – falls with that much rotation, at that speed, really were dangerous. Ice was unforgiving and skates were sharp, and a landing in just the wrong direction could seriously injure someone. Jeremy got up, though, facing away from Eric, but placed his hands on his hips and didn't move on.

"Keep going!" Eric yelled. Jeremy's music was still playing but Jeremy stood in the center of the ice, his head down, and Eric was livid. Jeremy's coach stood just next to Eric, her head in her hands, looking down at the ground instead of on the ice. "You have got to be kidding me! Jeremy, keep going!"

Jeremy turned around and skated toward Eric and the music cut out. Eric held onto the door and pushed it shut when Jeremy attempted to open it again. "Seriously, Abbott?" Eric asked. "You're just going to stop? You have twenty minutes left to practice."

"I can't do the quad," said Jeremy. "It's the same as last night."

"Last night was an anomaly and you know it," said Eric. "I've seen you do that quad a thousand times. You were just under rotated when you put your skate down."

"Well I can't do it."

"Then make it a triple. Don't just stand there in the middle of the ice like a drama queen –"

"A drama queen? Bitty, you're nineteen years old. This isn't my first rodeo. I don't need some kid telling me I'm under rotated. I know I'm under rotated."

"Oh Lord, you're not going to go all Evil Queen on me and poison my apples, are you?" Eric asked, his eyebrow raised. "Sorry you're not fairest in the land, Abbott."

Jeremy stared at Eric and attempted to open the door again. Eric, no longer wearing his skates, planted his feet and drove his shoulder into the door to keep it closed. Jeremy continued to push but he was wearing ice skates on actual ice and couldn't find the traction. He finally let go and rolled his eyes.

"God, you're fucking right," said Jeremy. "I hate that you're both right and in second place. You better win tonight, Bits. Your free skate is way stronger than Hanyu's."

"I don't want to even talk about it," said Eric. "Now can you do it again please? With a triple this time?" Jeremy looked at his coach, who nodded, and then skated back to the center of the rink. His music began again and the quadruple toe loop, which was the first jump of his program, was replaced with a triple toe loop, and Jeremy landed it perfectly. Eric let out a loud whoop and Jeremy kept going.

A half an hour later Eric was beginning to feel nervous. The free skate portion of the competition wasn't for another six hours, but this was the last competitive skate of Eric's Olympic experience and he wanted, more than anything, to win. It didn't seem attainable twenty-four hours before, but Bitty defeated Hanyu in the free skate at the 2013 World Championship by five and a half points, and the deficit between Eric and gold was less than four. Katya had warned him that morning about this specifically – "Do not think about trying to beat him. You are not skating tonight to beat him. You are skating tonight for you and your country, Bitty, and that is what is important. Clean up your knees and show me again what you are capable of." – but Hanyu was in his brain and he needed a distraction.

It was cold again when Eric left the Iceberg Skating Palace. The sky was gray but not gray enough for snow, but Eric buried his face in his windbreaker to help keep out the bite in the air. He wished he'd remembered his hat, but it lay on the floor next to his bed in the Olympic Village, completely useless. He'd remembered his mittens, at least, but still had to rub his hands together to keep them warm. Two years in Boston had done nothing to help him acclimatize to cold weather.

He looked up when he reached the center of the park; people were still filing out of the Bolshoy Dome. He felt guilty that he hadn't been able to go to either of Canada's preliminary games, especially after Jack texted him that the team watched his performance in the short program, but he and his mother were going to stay in Sochi until the Closing Ceremony, so Eric had plenty of time to attend games after his events were over.

Someone was waving in his direction and after a quick squint he realized it was Jack. Eric waved back enthusiastically and laughed a bit that he was actually happy to see Jack this time. Jack jogged across the park, through the circle of flags and the gigantic statue holding the Olympic flame, and stopped, pink in the cheeks and huffing white puffs of breath, just in front of Eric.

"Hey, what are you doing right now?" Jack asked.

"Nothing. Just finished practice but I don't have to be back until four."

"Do you want coffee?" Jack asked.

"Yeah, sure! But somewhere inside, please? I am FROZEN."

"Ha, Bitty, it's probably not even below freezing yet." Eric pointedly took out his phone, flipped back the covers of his fingerless mittens, and pulled up the current temperature in Sochi, Russia.

"Thirty-one," said Eric and turned the screen to Jack. "Below freezing."

"Okay, Bitty," said Jack. "Come on, they have a good place back in the Village that Shitty and I went to the other day."

"We don't have to walk, do we?" Eric asked and Jack laughed.

"No, we can take the shuttle. I suppose you have to save all your strength for your free whatever tonight, right?"

"You're damn right," said Eric. He returned his phone to his coat pocket and flipped the covers of his mittens back over his frozen fingers and then covered both his ears with his hands, which were starting to hurt from the cold.

"Where's your hat?"

"On the floor of my room, because I'm an idiot," said Eric.

"It's probably better off there anyway, it's the most hideous thing I've ever seen," said Jack and Eric's mouth dropped in fake offense. "Here, wear mine." Jack pulled his black, red, and white knit hat out of the pocket of his jacket and handed it to Eric. Eric looked at it and the large white lettering across the center that clearly spelled out CANADA.

"Um…not that I don't appreciate the gesture," said Eric, "but what if someone sees me wearing a Canada hat?"

"Then they'll know you're a smart guy," said Jack and stuffed the hat onto Eric's head before Eric could make any sort of protest. Eric grumbled but adjusted it, already feeling the difference as the warm knit of the hat covered his painfully cold ears. "Come on, there's not a wait for the shuttle to the Village." Eric followed quickly behind Jack, his shorter legs working double time to keep up with Jack's unnecessarily long stride, but they hopped into the back of the shuttle to the Village and took the last two seats in the fourth row.

"How was your game today?" Eric asked.

"We won. Six to zero."

"Oh wow! Did you get any goals?"

"Yep, three."

"Why do I have your hat, then?" Eric asked. He took off Jack's hat and threw it at him. Jack smiled when he caught it but placed it back on Eric's head and down over his ears. "When's your next game? I'm done after today so I think I can probably come to the next one."

"Sunday at three," said Jack. "We play Finland. You don't have to come – depending on how far we go we could play up to five more games, so don't feel obligated to come to one of the early ones just because. I know you said hockey's not really your thing."

"Oh, no, I want to! I just never really had the opportunity to get into hockey. I like it. I'll come. If you do well that means I get to come to more."

The shuttle stopped and Jack looked up. "This is us, it's just right there," he said, pointing at a shop in the first level of one of the residence buildings. Jack and Eric hopped off the shuttle and Eric pulled the hat down further over his ears once they left the warmth of the vehicle. Jack chuckled and pushed the front over Eric's eyes.

"Hey!" said Eric and he pushed back the knit of the hat so he could follow Jack into the coffee shop. It was warmer inside than on the shuttle so Eric pulled his hat off again and stuffed it in his pocket with his mittens. Jack ordered black coffee and Eric ordered a white chocolate mocha and Jack looked at Eric like Eric was violating an obvious rule. "What?"

"Are you going to be able to skate tonight with that much sugar in you?" Jack asked.

"Honey, I can skate with a thousand mochas in me," said Eric, "and I'd still run laps around you." Jack laughed and didn't say another word until they sat at a table, Eric warming his hands around his red mug. He hadn't been to this coffee shop yet, but the Russian theme seemed a little overstated; red mugs, red sugar sprinkles on his whipped cream, red linens over the tables.

"We watched your competition last night," said Jack.

"Yeah, you texted me, remember?"

"But I wanted to tell you, too. You did really well. Shitty was in tears."

"Really?" Eric asked and an uncontrollable smile turned his lips upward. "Did you cry, Mr. Zimmermann?"

"No, sadly, I am a hockey robot made of stone," said Jack and Eric laughed, but it wasn't entirely untrue. Eric remembered the feel of Jack's chest under his hands when Eric ran into him the day after the Opening Ceremony. "Chowder's girlfriend flew in this morning and she's a big fan of figure skating, so she and a bunch of us are probably going to come watch tonight."

"Really?" Eric asked, his eyes widening. "Like in person?"

"Yeah. Is that okay?"

"Yeah! Yeah, that's great! Are you going to sit in the athlete section?" Jack nodded. "I'll try to look for you before I go on. We can meet up after…I mean, depending how after goes…"

"Do you think you're going to win?" Eric blushed as red as the tablecloth and took a sip of his mocha to avoid answering the question. "You could win. You're not really that far behind that Japanese guy and I looked up –" Jack looked down into his mug and didn't continue.

"Looked up what?" Eric asked.

"You were better than him in the long skate the last time you competed together." Eric felt the blush heat up his face all the way to his ears.

"Yeah," said Eric, "yeah, I did, but this is a different program. It's loaded up pretty high in terms of base value and bonus so he'd have to make a lot of mistakes in order for me to pass him up, and to pass him up by enough to make up for how well he did yesterday."

"I think you can do it," said Jack.

"Thanks, Jack. Can we talk about something else? I'm kind of nervous already and I don't want to think about it right now."

"Yeah, okay," said Jack. "What are you going to do afterward? The Closing Ceremony is over a week away."

"Well there's the Gala Exhibition on the 22nd, which I may or may not actually skate in, depending how tonight goes. My Mama's here and I have barely gotten to see her since we started, but I've been practicing a lot every day and all the events happened right away. Jeremy even had to do his short program the day before the Opening Ceremony."

"Sorry I called him your brother," Jack said quietly. Eric shook his head.

"No, no, it's fine. He does look a lot like me."

"And I'm sorry," Jack continued. "I'm sorry I yelled at you. That was completely inappropriate."

"It's fine."

"Bitty –"

"It's fine, Jack," said Eric. "You're not a dick anymore, so we're fine." Jack smirked and Eric took another sip of his mocha to hide his smile. "Anyway, Mama and I want to do some sightseeing and maybe check out a few of the other events. She found a farmer's market nearby and even though it's still winter there's some good stuff that's been brought in from south of here that she said we can make some good food with. I travel a lot for competition and we usually try to cook at least one local dish with local ingredients."

"That's really neat. I rarely travel internationally. Sometimes I feel like I'm always on a plane but it's just in the US and a few cities in Canada that have teams."

"You're from Montreal, right?"

"Yeah. We moved a couple of times when I was a kid because of my Dad, but we always had a house in Montreal."

"Do you miss it now that you live in Providence?"

"No," said Jack quickly, but then he stopped to think about it and Bitty took another sip while Jack's gaze was far away. "Yes. Both, really, I think. There's a certain kind of familiarity and longing, I guess, when I think about it. There are things I remember about growing up there that I miss, but they're not there when I go back. I miss some of my friends from mites but they're all grown and moved away or have families. I miss sitting in the window bench in my room but I'm too big to comfortably sit there now. I miss the food but I'm always on a nutrition plan so it's hard to really enjoy it when I know I shouldn't be eating it. I think I miss being a kid more than I miss being there."

"Yeah," said Eric and he thought about Christmas back in Madison and running into high school classmates again who were also in college, and how Robbie Jericho lost all his football muscle and gained a beer belly in its place, like the weight of his neck and arms just sank into his stomach. Eric's bedroom was still his bedroom but his mother would check on him before bed like he was seven years old even though she never did when he was in high school. "I went home for Christmas. I kept thinking the whole time that I was there that I wanted to just be back at Samwell, but when I was Samwell I kept thinking that I wanted to be home again."

"Do you like it there? At Samwell?"

"Yeah! It just a little weird this semester because I still live in the dorm but I'm not taking any classes. I took the semester off so I could go to Nationals, come here, go to Worlds in March, and not worry about making up assignments or having to study for midterms when I got back. I mean I'm going to have to take summer classes every year to graduate on time, but it's worth it. To be here."

"I didn't think it would be," said Jack.

"Really?"

"When they told me they wanted me on the team I didn't really want to come. We're doing really well this season – we could even win our division – and I wanted to really focus on that, but it's good for my team that I'm here. I knew I'd be a captain, or at least alternate captain, and the visibility I'd get if we did well would just help my team in the long run. We're still a new team and we could stand to have a few more fans come to games."

"Well I'm not far away," said Eric. "Ransom may want unlimited pie but I like you more."

Eric immediately looked back down into his coffee when he heard the words come out of his mouth, but Jack chuckled. Eric glanced up at him from underneath his eyelashes and Jack was smiling at him, his blue eyes much kinder than when Eric first met him in the park. Eric lifted his head and Jack leaned in.

"I won't tell him," said Jack.

"Good. Thanks." Eric took another sip of his drink but by this point the whipped cream had all melted away and Eric could see the color of his coffee for the first time. What should have been a taupe colored mocha was instead an unnaturally red beverage. "Oh Lord, they even colored the drink red. What the hell is wrong with these Russians?" Eric looked over at the counter where a busy barista was making two pink smoothies for a man and a woman holding hands and noticed red, pink, and white hearts cut out and taped to the front of the register. "Oh," he said. "Oh, Jack, it's the fourteenth! It's Valentine's Day!"

"Oh," said Jack and the tips of his high cheekbones turned as pink as the hearts on the register, "I guess it is."

"I didn't even think about it. I think being perpetually single kind of makes you forget about things like this," said Eric. Jack nodded. "Do you have a girlfriend back home?"

"No," said Jack, shaking his head. "No one."

"Then we can be single together," said Eric. "Happy Valentine's Day, Jack."

"Happy Valentine's Day, Bitty."

They clinked mugs and Eric hoped he wouldn't have red lips when he competed that evening.

 

***

 

Eric shook out his hands and shifted his weight from foot to foot, but balancing on the side of the rink in skate guards was never that much fun, especially when he had so much excess energy from an unwise decision to drink a gigantic white chocolate mocha just a few hours before the competition. He decided not to tell Katya that he and Jack went for coffee, but from the looks she'd given him when he arrived at the arena for warm up, she probably figured it out.

He drew placement after Hanyu again which seemed like a good thing before competition began, but after Eric watched Hanyu's performance, his nerves increased tenfold. Hanyu fell twice during his skate, bringing his technical score down to a range where if Eric was perfect, or at least close to perfect, he could sneak in a win. Every time he glanced at the scoreboard, Katya snapped her fingers at him.

"No," she said, "do not worry about your score. I know you're doing math in your head. Stop."

"Okay, okay," said Eric. He shook out his hands again and instead of looking at the scoreboard yet another time, he turned around and looked behind him at the athlete's section. He easily spotted them in the fifth and sixth rows, sitting together, all wearing their red Canada jackets. Jack sat next to Ransom and Holster, and Shitty, Chowder, and a girl Eric assumed was Chowder's girlfriend sat in the row in front of them. They all waved frantically at him and Eric waved back. Holster and Ransom yelled "ERIC BITTLE!" loudly and Eric laughed; their voices easily carried down to the boards. He waved again before he turned around and took in a deep, slow breath.

"Those hockey boys have taken to you," said Katya. "Especially Jack Zimmermann."

"Oh my God, Katya, not now," said Eric.

"They're from Canada, Bitty," said Katya. "Not Boston. Not even Georgia."

"Ransom lives in Boston. Jack lives in Providence."

"Still. Don't get too attached to them." Eric nodded. "Are you ready?" Eric nodded again. "Remember your knees. Go out there and –"

"Eric Bittle to the ice," said the announcer and Eric let out another long breath.

"–Go out there and have fun." Katya squeezed the back of his neck. He stilled for just a moment at her touch, closing his eyes, remembering how it felt when he was five and she would do this to slow him down. He opened his eyes again and opened the door to the ice. Ransom and Holster's cheers carried down to the ice again but he stared at the Sochi 2014 symbol painted underneath him and tuned them out, along with the rest of the applause from the crowd. This program was by far the most fun routine he'd put together, but his step sequence was both intricate and, in a moment of anxiety before his music started, entirely too complicated for four and a half minutes of skating. He took another breath and looked up, ready.

 _Relax_ , he thought as soon as the music began and the steps came naturally, his hops easy from heel to the toe of his skate as he marched in turns to the insistent backing beat, his head nodding up on each downbeat, his chest popping out, hearing nothing but the blood in his ears and the insistent drum line. He hopped onto his right foot and picked up speed headed backward, glancing up at the athlete's section just once, at the blur of red in rows five and six before he took a breath, brought his arms in and kicked the toe of his left foot into the ice to launch himself into the air _one two three four_ and then back down again on his right foot, only to turn around one more time and kick his left toe into the ice again _one two three_ before he landed a second time on his right foot, his knee bent too far, and he thought _fuck_ before he turned and headed back to the center of the ice.

It had been ridiculously difficult to slow himself down for his short program, but the music needed it. The music of this routine needed energy, twenty mochas worth of energy, so he picked up speed, hopped over onto his left foot, his right leg extended far out behind him as his left hand reached forward and his right, after six spins, reached back to grab his leg and pull it close to his head. He kept his eyes open, the familiar dizziness kicking in the faster he turned, until he'd counted to ten and let go. He was too fast, just out of sync with the music, and took the extra second to pick up speed and then, when the music cut out he slammed his toe pick into the ice and spun _one two three four_ again, landed upright, his arms out, and let out a deep breath.

He'd managed two quads, his two most difficult jumps of the program, and let himself go for the rest of it. When he landed his triple lutz double salchow combo in the second half, he faced the athlete section and Ransom and Holster were on their feet, their arms above their heads, and he tipped his chin up at them before he turned around and headed into his choreograph sequence.

Four and half minutes had never gone so fast. His final spin had him deep in a crouch, his left foot just inches away from the ice, and when the last revolution hit, and he recognized the final bars of the music, he bolted upright, dug his pick into ice a final time, and raised his right hand into the sky, his chin up, his Olympics over.

The crowd burst into applause. Eric took a bow for the judges before facing the four sections of the crowd, leaving the athlete's section for last. When he bowed he heard Ransom and Holster a final time, screaming "ERIC BITTLE RUNS THE WORLD" before he waved a final time and exited the ice. Katya was there waiting for him. She pulled him into a tight hug and he melted against her, breathing hard, all of the worry he hadn't felt on the ice returning with her embrace.

"Come on, Bitty, let's sit," she said. She handed him his skate guards, which he put on before he followed her to the bench and waited on bated breath for results. The Jumbotron replayed the highlights from his routine – the shaky landing on the second toe loop of his opening combination but also the solid landing from his second quad, and his perfect execution on his triple lutz, which the media the night before were calling his signature jump.

"Can I have the results please?" asked the announcer and Katya took Eric's hand. Denis Ten from Kazakhstan had already skated as well and there was no way Eric was going to fall under him, not after a skate that clean. It was just a matter of what color – gold or –

"Silver," said Katya, and Eric let out a disappointed breath at the white number two in front of his name. His score of 178.10 was nothing to laugh at, just half a point behind Hanyu, but it still resulted in a total deficit of four and a half points with two skaters left to go, neither of whom had the technical score to reach him. He was a silver medalist and it hurt more than he thought it would.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bitty's free skate was, of course, to an instrumental version of [Run the World (Girls) by Beyonce](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rKA5XH5KccY). When I told my husband this was the song I chose for Bitty's free skate he said "But Bitty is a boy," to which I replied "Shut up."


	7. Chapter Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to luckiedee for all of her beta work on this!

**JACK**

 

Jack heard the check before he felt it, an aggressive grunt in his direction, the unmistakable sound of blade scraping against ice, and then a solid block of Finnish hockey player pushed his weight into Jack's left hip and overturned him. Jack held onto his stick but there was no saving his control of the puck as his entire body lifted off the ice, the opposing player (number 32; he was going to be murdered later) forcing Jack out of the way. Jack looked toward the net; Chowder had his eyes on the puck, now passed to another Finnish player. Number 32 skated forward and Jack landed face-first onto the ice, his chin hitting the solid white ground with rattling thud, his teeth clattering against his mouth guard. He lay on the ice for just a second, dazed, when 32 brought his stick back, slapped his puck, and it flew past Chowder's helmet and into the net.

The horn blared a moment later – regulation was over.

"Jack! Cap, you okay?" Shitty asked, reaching out a hand to help Jack stand up. Jack grabbed it, Shitty forced him upright, Jack ignored the stars he could see in front of his eyes.

"Yeah, yeah, just hit my chin a bit. Let's go back; I want to talk to everyone before overtime." Jack skated toward the bench but on the way he passed the athlete section and saw Bitty in the third row, his hands over his mouth, his large eyes worried. He stood next to a woman who, apart from her eyes, looked exactly like him, and Jack assumed it was his mother. She also looked worried. Jack connected eyes with Bitty, who removed his hands from his mouth and loudly asked "Are you okay?" Jack nodded and waved at him before he approached the bench.

Intermission before overtime was only three minutes long, so there was no time to waste on words of reprimand, but Jack knew exactly how they ended up in this situation. The first preliminary game was sloppy but successful, the second worked better, but the roster of seasoned NHL players were too overconfident to be tied a score apiece against Finland.

"Can I say something, Coach?" Jack asked Coach Babcock, who nodded. Jack turned to the group of players, most of whom were staring back at him, their faces set to stone. "This isn't where we'd thought we'd be at three periods ago, and we're a better team than this. Overtime is five minutes, four-on-four. Parse, you up for it?"

"Yeah, Cap," said Kent with a shrug.

"If you're not I'm putting the second line in."

"Yeah, Cap," said Kent without a shrug.

"All right, you and Shitty are in." Kent looked over to Shitty, who was staring at Jack.

"Really?" Kent asked. "You're not going in?"

"We've got both sides covered if you and Shitty go in. Ransom, Holster, do not let anyone near Chowder. You got me?"

"YES CAPTAIN!" shouted Holster.

"NO ONE FUCKS WITH MY CHOWDER!" shouted Ransom.

"All right," said Jack with a smile. "First goal wins. Let's make it a short overtime, eh?"

Jack hopped over the board and took Shitty's spot on the bench. He unstrapped his helmet, which luckily stayed on during his collision with the ice, and tenderly touched the underside of his chin. His fingers came back clean so there was no hidden split in the skin, but the joints of his jaw in front of his ears clicked ominously and his chin itself throbbed. He could tell already he was going to get a headache from this, but the damage was only superficial. If they won this game, they didn't have to play again until Wednesday, which would be a welcome break to recalibrate the team.

Kent skated to center ice to take the faceoff, Shitty just to his right. Jack stared at the two of them and realized it was the first time he'd ever seen them from this point of view – practice for the Olympic team had been taking place since August, and for nearly six months Jack had been the one who took the faceoff and Kent and Shitty had been flanking him instead. He felt detached from the scene in front of him, as if he were watching the game on television instead of from the bench, as if the camera was tilted forty-five degrees and slowly, very slowly, panning to the left.

Jack blinked. The angle righted itself. His heart beat feverishly in his chest and he took one long breath to try to calm it down. He looked up at the clock and only seven seconds of overtime had passed. He looked over at Kent and Shitty, passing the puck between them, and then suddenly Kent took a shot. It slid across the ice and directly through the five-hole, and it was over.

The bench erupted on either side of him, ready to partake in Kent's celly, but Jack let out a deep breath again and waited for the game to feel real. Kent skated up to him directly and tapped Jack's helmet. Jack looked up at him. "Good game, Parse."

"Good game, Zimms. Come on, you need to get out of here."

"Do I?" Jack asked.

"I know that look. Let's get you out of here. We won and we're idiots to have to go into overtime to do it. You know that. I think that check messed with your head a bit." Jack nodded. Kent pulled him off the bench and they skated toward the tunnel together. As they passed the athlete section, Jack glanced back over at Bitty. Bitty waved, a large grin plastered on his face. Jack raised his hand and briefly waved back before he and Kent disappeared into the tunnel. Jack glanced over at Kent, who had an eyebrow raised, but Jack ignored him and led the team to the locker room.

 

***

 

"Bitty, you don't have to make us pie again," said Jack when he opened the door to their apartment and found Bitty on the other side with grocery bags on one arm and an already baked pie on the other. “This is supposed to be your day. You were the one who just won a silver medal.” Bitty ducked under Jack’s arm and hid his face.

"Oh yes I do!" said Bitty, who then headed directly to the kitchen. "That was a great game and now you're in the quarterfinals! I'm so proud of you all!"

"Yes, pie!" yelled Shitty from the bedroom, and then proceeded to vault across the small apartment and into a barstool at the counter. "What kind is it?"

"This one is peach. It was either going to be a 'Congratulations on Quarterfinals' pie or a 'Sorry that you didn't make it' pie, but either way it was going to end up here. I brought pecans and eggs and sugar but I wanted to check first that no one had a nut allergy before I threw it together and then murdered someone."

"Death by pie would be the way to go," said Shitty. He was already cutting into the peach pie.

"No, no nut allergies here," said Jack. "Did you tell Chowder you were coming over?" Bitty shook his head. "I'll text him. He will be sad if we eat pie without him and Farmer." Jack pulled out his phone for the first time since that morning, before the game began. There were several text messages waiting for him, from his parents and his manager and some of the boys on the Falconers, but he only opened one string:

      **Bitty**  
     I'm really close to the ice. Am I going to get hit by a puck?  
  
      **Bitty**  
     Oh God, what if I get hit by a puck?  
  
      **Bitty**  
     Now I understand what they mean when they say you're a beast  
  
      **Bitty**  
     Not that I think you're a beast  
  
      **Bitty**  
     I just mean you're really intense when you play  
  
      **Bitty**  
     Good intense. Not bad.  
  
      **Bitty**  
     GOAAAALLLLLLLLLLL  
  
      **Bitty**  
     Do announcers do that in hockey? GOOALLLLLLLLLL  
  
      **Bitty**  
     OH MY WORD ARE YOU OKAY  
  
      **Bitty**  
     No seriously are you okay why aren't you playing in overtime?  
  
      **Bitty**  
     GOOOAALLLLLLLL  
  
      **Bitty**  
     Good game :) :) :)  


Jack turned to Bitty who had emptied his grocery bags and was already mixing together ingredients for a crust.

"Hey, sorry I didn't see these until right now," said Jack, holding out his phone. Bitty looked up and blushed.

"Oh, right. I didn't think you would. Are you okay, though? That was a really nasty fall you had at the end there. When Jeremy fell on Wednesday he was shaken up for hours. He barely slept that night. Which, of course, meant I barely slept that night…"

"Nah, I'm fine. Hockey's all about checks. Sometimes you get flipped over."

"That sounds terrible. Did you get hurt at all?" Jack shook his head but when his lips pursed and his jaw set to reinforce the motion, he instinctively put a hand to his sore chin. "Oh, you did. It's okay to say that something hurts, Jack."

"I'm fine. Just bruised my chin a little bit."

"Let me see." Bitty put down his mixing bowl and stepped up to Jack, who raised his chin, but Bitty was only eye level with Jack's chin anyway. Bitty gingerly reach out a hand and waited for Jack's approval – Jack nodded slightly – and Bitty touched the underside of Jack's chin. Jack winced immediately but didn't pull away from Bitty's gentle touch, staring down into Bitty's dark eyes. Bitty's eyes flicked up to Jack's at the grimace but then returned back to Jack's chin. "Oh, yeah. You're getting purple under there. You can talk and chew and everything, right?"

"Talk, yes. I haven't tried to chew anything."

"Brah, pie!" said Shitty from the counter, crust deep in slice number two.

"Try some pie and see if your jaw's okay. It's probably just a bruise, but maybe you should have the team doctor look at it?" Jack stepped away from Bitty at the mention of the team doctor and sat next to Shitty at the counter. Before he was even settled there was a slice of pie and a fork in front of him. Jack looked up at Bitty, who smiled shyly at him before turning back to his mixing bowl and continuing the crust for his pecan pie.

Bitty carried himself differently now that his competition was over, but the longer Jack looked, the more he realized Bitty had just relaxed. His shoulders were less tense, his face at rest, no furrow in his brow or tightness in his fingers. Jack hadn't had the chance to really talk to Bitty since he won the silver medal; Bitty was caught in media for hours after the event ended, longer than Jack or even Chowder and Farmer could reasonably wait. Chowder's girlfriend had to settle for a quick introduction before the medal ceremony but it appeared she was satisfied with the meeting.

Shitty nudged Jack, who startled and looked over. "What?" Jack asked.

"Nothing," said Shitty. "Just making sure you're still with us here. You didn't get a concussion, did you?"

"No, I'm fine," said Jack. At the mention of the word "concussion," Bitty had looked up and there was worry etched into his face again. "Bitty, I'm fine. Everyone just needs to calm down." Jack began to eat the pie without much discomfort. Bitty stared at him until Jack swallowed. "See? Fine."

"All right. Don't eat the whole pie, you two. Leave some for Chowder."

"Oh, crap, I need to text Chowder," said Jack. He took out his phone again and sent a quick message. As soon as he put the phone back in his pocket he could hear a door open down the hall and heavy steps approach. The door flung open and Chowder exploded inside.

"There's pie?" he yelled. Behind him Caitlin Farmer stood awkwardly just outside the door. She wore a Sharks hoodie and yoga pants without shoes. "Oh, Bitty, you're here! You didn't get to really meet Famer yet. Babe, come in here." Chowder pulled Farmer into the room and she blushed furiously when she saw Bitty standing in the kitchen with a large mixing bowl and flour on his hands.

"Oh, hi again," she said. "I'm Caitlin –"

"Hi!" said Bitty. "I'm sorry I couldn't stay longer the other day. You know how it is – they tell you where to go and you just kind of go." Farmer laughed nervously and nodded. "Please come in and sit down. Eat some pie. It's peach."

"Congratulations on your medal! Are you happy?”

“Yes,” said Bitty. The whisk in his hand fell onto the floor and Bitty disappeared for longer than necessary to pick it up. He set down the bowl on the counter.

“What kind of pie are you making right now?" Farmer asked.

"Pecan,” said Bitty after he appeared from the floor. He turned on the faucet to begin to wash the whisk that landed on the dirty floor. “Do you like pecan pie?"

"I love pecan pie!" Farmer said brightly and then put her hands over her mouth. "Sorry, that was loud."

Bitty's eyebrows furrowed together and Jack stuffed another piece of pie in his mouth to prevent himself from chuckling.

"Honey, you are probably the least loud person I have met since I've been here, myself included. Sit. Eat. Chowder, were you born in a barn? Close the door." Chowder quickly closed the apartment door before he led Farmer to the counter and pulled out her chair for her. Bitty set a piece of pie down for both of them and after Farmer took her first bite she blushed redder than before and looked at Chowder.

"Yeah it's good, right?"

"It's really good. Eric, thank you. This is fantastic."

"No problem, dear." Eric placed his dough on the counter and dusted his rolling pan with flour before he began to roll it out. "Chowder tells me you're a big fan of figure skating."

"Chris!" Farmer scolded.

"It's fine! I'm flattered. Did you get to meet anyone else?"

"No."

"How long are you staying? If you're here 'til the end you can come to the Gala Exhibition on the 22nd. Most of us have left already. Jeremy left yesterday. He didn't even say goodbye. I just came back and his stuff was gone, but I think he was upset at how everything turned out. My other two roommates Charlie and Simon are probably going to leave soon too, but there should be a good amount of people at the Gala. It won't be like the other night, so you can probably come meet them all."

"Oh wow," said Farmer. "Yeah, that would be fantastic."

"Great! They're a lot more hoity toity than these boys," said Bitty, waving his pin toward Jack, Shitty, and Chowder. "But they're good people."

"Fantastic. I already said fantastic but it is fantastic. Thank you so much, Eric."

"Call me Bitty," said Bitty with a smile. "Everyone else does, apparently." Bitty looked at Jack, as if it were Jack's fault he had a nickname now, but Jack just smiled back at him and continued eating his pie.

Farmer and Chowder returned to Chowder's apartment after they finished eating with promises to return when the pecan pie had cooled down, and Shitty sat on the couch and flipped through the events currently playing before he found speed skating. "Brah, I think your girlfriend's skating now," said Shitty from the couch. Jack froze and locked eyes with Bitty, who stopped crimping his pie crust and looked up.

"Girlfriend?" Bitty asked, his brows knit in confusion.

"Yeah, me and Jack met these Polish speed skaters the other day. I think this one getting ready right now is her."

"Not my girlfriend," Jack said quickly and he felt his cheeks flush for no reason. "She just wanted an autograph. I signed her hat."

"She was mad into Jack, though," called Shitty over his shoulder, still facing the television. "I told him he should go for it but he's totally lame." Bitty straightened unnaturally and finished crimping the crust of his pie before he repositioned himself to the other side of the kitchen and began to fill the crust, facing completely away from Jack.

Jack stood and hit Shitty in the back of the head. "Hey!" said Shitty. Jack circled the counter and entered the kitchen. He leaned against the fridge and watched Bitty flatten the filling of the pie with the back of a spatula. Bitty glanced up, his face completely red, before he looked back down.

"Yes, Mr. Zimmermann?" he asked.

"What are you doing tomorrow?" Jack asked.

"Nothing really. Mama wants to go sight-seeing but it's supposed to be cold tomorrow, like actually cold, so we might wait until Tuesday to do that. Why?"

"Do you want to go on a hike with me through the mountains? We can't practice until late tomorrow so I don't really have anything going on in the morning."

"On a hike? Like, outside?"

"Yes, Bitty, outside."

"I guess…"

"Thank you for sounding so enthusiastic."

"No, I want to! I just… we just have to stop for cocoa before. And bring blankets. Ooh, I'll go to the store with Mama tonight and we'll make soup and sandwiches and we can have a picnic! But only if it's not too cold. If it's too cold you might have to carry me over your shoulder because I will stop functioning if we get too high up. Have you ever seen a dog outside in the winter when their paws freeze? And they just keel over with their paws in the air and scream?"

"Okay, maybe we should just stay inside…"

"No, a hike is good! What time?"

"I don't know. Like six? Seven?"

Bitty stared at him, his mouth a thin line, his eyes judgmental.

"How about you just come over when you wake up? I have to be at practice at four."

"Okay," said Bitty. "Do you want to help me? I think the filling's done."

"Sure. Where are the pecans?" Bitty looked at Jack again. "What?"

"Pecan," said Bitty.

"Pecan," repeated Jack.

"No, _pecan_."

"Pecan," said Jack.

"Lord, you're insufferable. Just hand them to me and never say that word again." Bitty gestured for the bag of pecans on the counter. Jack handed them over and let Bitty handle the pie alone.

 

***

 

Bitty knocked on the apartment door at nine o'clock the following morning with a backpack and a thermos full of hot cocoa. In addition to his lunch supplies, he had on his USA coat (the less ugly one), his USA gloves, his USA hat, and a long blue scarf that he'd wrapped several times around his neck. Jack took one look at him and started laughing.

"It's twenty-seven degrees out, Jack, shut your pie hole," said Bitty before he thrust the thermos at Jack. Jack sealed his lips and threw away the key before he opened the closet next to the door and took out his red Canada coat from the Opening Ceremony. He would more than likely regret the decision after they started up the steep hills since the coat was very warm, but despite what he was accustomed to, it was a bit cold outside. He buttoned up the coat and then turned to Bitty.

"Ready?"

"I guess," said Bitty.

"Do I need to bring anything?"

"No, I have lunch, warm drinks, and two blankets that we can use to both sit on and also keep me warm."

"What about me?"

"You're Canadian. I'm assuming your blood is just always twenty-seven degrees."

"Ha, not quite. I think we should be good."

They took a shuttle to the hiking trail; the same mountains were being used for the skiing and snowboarding events, but the snow had to be flown in from other parts of the country where it was actually on the ground. Jack had heard complaints about the quality of the outdoor facilities and didn't even want to think about having to compete on snow that had been overnighted from Siberia.

The trails were fairly empty. It was Monday, now over halfway through the games, so many of the tourists were gone or at least had moved on from hiking in the mountains. Jack and Bitty passed a few people as they began their steep climb, but no one recognized either of them and neither had to stop and dole out an autograph. It was peaceful, the wind light as it blew through the bare trees, and quiet. Bitty hadn't said a word since they started hiking, just walking with Jack, neither of them feeling the need to say anything.

About forty-five minutes into their ascent they reached natural snowfall. The ground began to crunch under their feet, the kind of sound that didn't travel far since the snow muted the ambient sounds of a mountainside in winter. The wind was stronger here – not uncomfortably cold, or enough to make walking difficult – but when a gust would pick up it would sway all of the trees and cause flakes of snow to drift in swirls to the ground.

"Is it snowing?" Bitty asked, stopping and looking up at the sky. The trees were bare enough that they could see the sky, but the sky was a light overcast, no blue to be seen but nowhere near dark enough for precipitation.

"No, I think it's just the wind," said Jack. "The sky is too light – it barely looks like clouds."

Bitty ran ahead of him as a gust of wind created the illusion of a heavy snowfall. Jack stopped and watched him run, his arms spread out, and he began to spin in the center of the large trail, the snowflakes swirling around him, the wind blowing the blue scarf behind him.

"Jack!" he yelled, now over fifty feet away. "Come run in the wind with me!"

Jack smiled and ran to catch up. Bitty was spinning, not nearly as fast as he would on ice, but around and around with the wind. When Jack approached, Bitty took his hand and they twirled in the snow together, the small flecks of white flying in front of Bitty's face, in front of his pink cheeks and chapped lips and wide eyes. He looked magical, like the wind was dancing with him. When they stopped spinning, Bitty laughed a sweet, pealing laugh and it echoed in the immediate vicinity, over and over again in Jack's ears. The wind continued to blow and the frayed edge of Bitty's scarf blew to the west. Bitty was breathing hard from his twirling, his breath coming in short, white puffs in front of his face. Jack had never seen a person look like Bitty did in that moment, happy and laughing and alive.

Bitty looked up at Jack, and Jack looked down, and he realized they were still holding hands. Bitty let go, his smile fading from his lips.

"This reminds me of your skate," said Jack. "The first night. The slow one."

"Really? But that one's so sad!"

"But it was beautiful," said Jack. "The way you're moving, how you're spinning…it just reminds me of how you moved that night."

"It's not a happy program, though. The music is too heartbreaking to be happy. It hurts too much to be beautiful," said Bitty and he wrapped his arms around himself like he did at the beginning of his performance.

"Have you ever felt like that? For real?"

"No," said Bitty, shaking his head. "But I can still feel it. I've witnessed it enough times in my life to know what it feels like."

"Do you?" Jack asked, his voice quiet. Bitty took a step forward, his arms still wrapped around himself. "It's always worse when you're the one going through it."

"Are you okay, Jack?" Bitty asked. Jack nodded.

"Yeah. I don't know why I'm thinking about it. It's been a long time… Sorry, I didn't mean to get serious."

"No, it's okay. Come on, I want to see how high we can go," said Bitty. He took Jack's hand again and they continued their trek up the mountain.

 


	8. Chapter Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many many many thanks to luckiedee for her beta work, specifically on this one. Without her the end of this chapter might have looked a lot different. Thank you!!

**BITTY**

 

The weather warmed on Tuesday just enough to be tolerable, but also just enough so that instead of snow, the skies turned dark gray and rain began. Instead of heading back to the mountains for a hike, or into town to visit the market, Eric met his mother at the security checkpoint to the Olympic Village and they headed toward the park to watch short track speed skating. Originally the plan had been to go sightseeing, but when Eric spoke to his mother on Monday night to solidify their plans, it was evident there was nothing really to see and nothing to do apart from winter sports, which neither had any interest in.

Katya was not with them so Suzanne purchased Eric a large soda and nachos before they sat in the stands. Eric was certain the rain would drive more attendance to the indoor sports, especially since there was no figure skating that day, but it appeared most people attended the hockey playoff rounds instead. There was no shortage of empty seats in the Iceberg Skating Palace, where Eric had spent the majority of his time at these Olympic Games. It was odd to sit in the stands and watch, especially not with Katya and not in the athletes’ section, but the ice looked different enough for this event that Eric was able to separate himself from the sport.

"Now is this the one where they go around really fast and knock each other over?" Suzanne asked after they sat down.

"Yeah, it's pretty exciting to watch," said Eric through a mouthful of nachos. "They go so fast if they run into each other even a little bit then half the skaters could go flying into the boards."

"Oh, like Nascar?"

"Yeah, but on skates," said Eric.

"Your daddy would have loved to see this."

Eric swallowed his chips too soon and he felt them scrape down his throat and into his stomach. He coughed a bit, trying not to show his discomfort, and fortunately when he looked over at his mother, she was watching the skaters who were standing at the starting line.

He'd always looked like his mother, even from a young age. They had the same jawline, the same pointed chin and nose, and most obviously the same color hair. His eyes, though, were just like his father's, which always made it uncomfortable to look at Coach directly. He'd spent his life looking at himself in the mirror, looking into his own eyes as he brushed his teeth in the morning, and to see his own eyes stare back at him with disappointment was something that stuck with him longer than any sort of reassuring words or gestures from his mother.

"Yeah, I wish he could have come," said Eric before he stuffed another chip in his mouth.

"If it were just a weekend, or just a day or two during the week, I could have seen him coming, even if we are on the other side of the world, but not two full weeks," said Suzanne, and Eric wondered why she was justifying this.

"My events were only two days, really. He could have just seen those."

"Well he saw them on television," said Suzanne. "He's very proud of you, honey. We both are." Eric finally looked over at her. She put her arm around him and pulled him against her, her head on his shoulder. "You did so well. I was sitting just over there when I saw that you'd won the silver and I couldn't contain myself. The woman next to me – we chatted before the program started, you know, and I told her I was your mother – jumped up and screamed and hugged me and I started crying and she gave me a tissue from her purse. I still can't believe it. I still can't believe how well you did and how far you've come. There's no doubt in my mind that you'll win gold next time."

"Yeah," said Eric and he hid behind the gigantic cup of Coke.

"Katya says this is the same group you'll be competing against at Worlds next month."

"Yeah, mostly," said Eric. "I think there's one or two who either couldn't be here or are here but won't be there. Hanyu will be there for sure. I think if I add another quad and work on my knees between now and then I can beat him. It is in Japan, though, and I know they say they're not biased, but you know how political these things can get."

"You'll do great, honey," said Suzanne. She let go of him and pulled a nacho off his plate. "How are your new friends doing? Ransom and Jack and…and the other one."

"Shitty?" Eric asked with a laugh when his mother closed her eyes rather than see her son curse. "They're all good. They don't have to play until tomorrow because they did so well in their first rounds. I guess that's what happens when the entire team is made up of professional hockey players."

"And they're all nice to you? Treating you well?"

"Yes, mother, they're very nice."

"You know how I worry about you, and I know how you get. You always see the best in people until it's too late," said Suzanne.

"Mama, they're all very nice. Especially Jack, and he's their captain, so if he's nice to me they all have to be nice to me."

"Hmm," said Suzanne.

"What? What 'hmm?'"

"No, it's nothing," said Suzanne. She looked down at the ice; Eric looked as well to see that a qualifying group was already racing around the track, crouched low and skating rhythmically, their arms swinging in unison, until they reached a turn and all leaned together, their left fingertips grazing the smooth surface beneath them. They looked almost like a team, like they were working together, until someone from Russia made a move when they reached a straightaway and jumped to the front of the line. "I'm glad they all like you. Especially Jack."

"What do you mean especially Jack?"

"You said it," said Suzanne. "You said he is especially nice to you."

"No, I said they're all very nice." Suzanne raised her eyebrows but didn't respond. "They're all very nice. Jack just keeps them in line."

"I'm not saying anything, honey, but I saw what happened after he took that bad hit the other day."

"Mother –"

"You were beside yourself –"

"Mother we are NOT talking about this –"

"And I saw how he looked for you as soon as he stood up."

"He's not gay, mother," said Eric and then he stopped speaking.

Suzanne shrugged her shoulders and took another nacho from Eric's plate, but Eric stared at the athletes skating in circles, over and over again, not really seeing them. They passed in a blur but he just saw the whiteness of the ice, felt the tip of the soda straw in his mouth, chewing on it without realizing he did it. This was not something they'd ever discussed at home. His frequent check-ins with his mother never included an update on his love life. His parents never asked if he was seeing anyone. From their conversation, and from subtle hints in the past, Eric knew his mother was aware of his sexual orientation, but he'd never officially come out to her. There was opportunity to, especially back in high school when he'd travel for competitions and disappear into broom closets and dressing rooms with boys, but she'd never asked and he'd never told.

Russia crossed the line first; Suzanne applauded politely but the stands erupted as if they'd just won a medal, shouts and screams from the half-full stadium filled Eric's ears, and he purposely snapped himself out of his thoughts and clapped until the noise began to cede. The qualification group skated off the ice and another five skated on, no one from Russia this time. Suzanne reached for the soda and Eric handed it to her absently.

"You okay, Dicky?" she asked.

"What? Yeah, fine."

"Does he have a girlfriend?" she asked and Eric looked over at her, his eyes wide.

"Are we really talking about this?"

"I know it's awkward talking to your mother about boys, but I think you're a little out of your depth here, hun. Does he have a girlfriend? Did you ask?"

"No," said Eric, "no, he says he doesn't."

"Did you ask if he's gay?"

"No! No, of course not!"

"Well then how do you know?"

"Mama, you just _know_ ," said Eric. "Besides, Shitty says he's gone on some Polish speed skater." Eric gestured to the five men on the ice. "It's not like that."

"Again, did he tell you he likes the Polish speed skater?"

"Ugh, Mama, let's just watch, okay?"

"Okay, Dicky. But sometimes your Mama knows what's up, and there's something up with that boy. It doesn't take a genius to see it."

Eric stole the soda back from her and took a long pull of it instead of responding.

 

**JACK**

 

Things were finally starting to click. Ransom and Holster had never been more in sync with each other, Chowder refused to let anything into the net, and Kent was always right there when Jack went to look for him. It was a welcome change from Kent's uncooperative attitude since camp back in August, but Jack wouldn't say they were friends – and he didn't want to either. It was, however, great to have Kent back again at his side, to skate along his wake toward the goal, knowing that he would be there when Kent needed him, and knowing that if he looked to his left, Kent would be ready for whatever he had in store.

Their quarterfinal match that evening was against Latvia. Similar to their previous games, none of the team really seemed to think Latvia was a strong opponent, but their overtime win against Finland seemed to bring more focus to the team after they realized how quickly momentum could change after something as simple as a goal just before the horn.

Jack and Kent were weaving around each other up and down the rink as they began to warm up for the game, five minutes still left on the clock prior to the first period. "Do you remember this?" Kent asked after he passed by Jack again; he looked back at Jack with sharp green eyes, and Jack felt seventeen and nostalgic and anxious. "How we used to do this when we were kids?"

"Yes," said Jack.

"Sometimes I miss it."

Jack didn't respond. Kent let out an annoyed huff and instead of their repetitive weaving, took off for the other end of the rink toward Chowder, who was finding the optimal placement for his bottle of water. Jack looked up into the athletes’ section – Bitty was there again, alone this time, and he waved enthusiastically at Jack when they locked eyes. Jack smiled and waved back. Bitty blushed and looked down at his phone – Jack would have to remember to check his texts after the game ended.

Jack skated back to the bench. He felt as ready as he could be against an opponent he didn't quite understand yet. This was the disadvantage to playing in the Olympics – there was tape of Latvia's preliminary games, of course, but those three games were all that existed of Latvia's style as a team, and that style was ill defined at best. It made Jack unsure of how to prepare, but both his line and the secondary had never played better, so he would have to count on that as a strategy.

The horn blared after Jack took a long sip of water from his bottle and the rest of the team headed back to the bench. Coach Babcock waited for their return before he pulled up his clipboard and said his final pre-game words:

"Don't forget Finland. Don't forget how you felt before we went into overtime. This team is no different. There may be tougher challenges ahead but this is the one you need to see. No one expects Canada to get knocked out at quarterfinals, so skate out there like the champions you are and we'll make it to semis. Let's go – Parson, Zimmermann, Knight, Birkholtz, Oluransi out there now. Smith, you're in the net."

Jack looked over at Chowder, who looked disappointed. Jack stood and hopped over the boards, but paused before he headed to the center for the faceoff. "You sure, Coach? Smith in the net?" he asked. Coach Babcock nodded.

"He hasn't had a start yet and he's been great in practice. I don't want to tire out Chow before we get to semifinals – there's a good chance we'll play USA."

"Okay," said Jack and didn't say anything further as he headed to the center faceoff circle. The Latvian centre was possibly the largest man Jack had ever faced in this situation – he was used to playing with guys like Holster, who was 6'4", but this centre had several inches on Holster, and Holster had two inches on Jack. When Jack bent over for the faceoff he noticed how far away the Latvian man was from the circle to accommodate his long arms and torso. Jack scooted in a bit and gripped the stick harder as he stared at the puck, Kent behind and to the left, Shitty behind and to the right. Kent would have the better advantage here since the Latvian right wing was staring at Jack, not at the puck.

The crowd was loud but the ice was soothingly still. Jack could hear his deep breathing in his ears but nothing else existed, just the puck in the referee's fingers, his grip on his stick, his blades on the ice, and the anticipation of the sixty minutes of sport he was just about to play. This was his favorite moment, the best moment of his life, the moment he lost all of his thoughts and focused purely on the game.

The puck dropped and Jack reacted faster than the lumbering Latvian centre, and the puck sailed back and to the left where Kent picked it up. The centre pushed at Jack with his shoulder but Jack skated through and was there when Kent passed it back to him. The first Latvian D-man was in Jack's face in an instant, smaller than Jack but insistent in his coverage, so Jack passed it back to Kent, who was immediately checked off of his feet by another D-man and the puck switched hands. Jack skidded on his skate and changed course with the puck, back towards Ransom and Holster, but before Jack could make a move against the Latvian forward, the shot had been taken – a shot that sailed right by Smith's head and into the net.

"Fuck!" Jack cursed and looked over at Coach Babcock, who stared at Smith, wrote a note on his clipboard, and then said, barely audibly over the excited roar of the audience, "Chow, get in there."

The Latvian defensemen were relentless but so were Ransom and Holster. Jack was getting exhausted and it was barely five minutes in; the puck switched back and forth so many times that Jack didn't have a shot on goal. Kent and Shitty each had two, but despite their accurate aim, every shot was deflected or caught. When Coach Babcock called for the shift, Jack sat on the bench, breathing heavily but too antsy to sit on the sideline for long.

The first period ended with Jack's first shot on goal, a shovel shot from around the back of the net and into the corner, just across the line before the buzzer sounded. Jack let out a deep breath when the light behind the glass began to spin. Kent hit Jack's helmet with his glove before heading back to the bench, but Shitty came up from behind and trapped Jack's in a thick hug.

"Oof!" Jack said and looked back.

"And that's why you're the cap, Cap," said Shitty. "Just do that a few more times, eh?"

"I wouldn't have to if you could get it in," Jack chirped and Shitty kissed him on the cheek, causing Jack to groan and recoil, but the camera was on them and everyone in the arena saw it twice before Jack could make it to the tunnel. Once back in the locker room, he sat down in his stall and rubbed at the wetness on his cheek only to have it reapplied by Holster, and then Ransom, and Jack had to push several teammates away as they lined up to kiss him.

"Stop it!" Jack yelled but half the team had converged upon him and there was nothing to do; he waited until the barrage was over, trying to frown but unable to replace the grin that each kiss left on him. The team finally settled and Jack stared across the room at Kent, who was relacing his skates and not partaking in the fun, and Jack was finally grateful that Kent had made himself so distant.

The second period went the same as the first; Jack pivoted back and forth across the blue lines, his shots on goal limited, but there was no last minute score this time. Coach Babcock reiterated his pregame speech, Jack chimed in a few times with "We've got this," or "The shots on goal just have to increase," or "Get physical. Get those blueliners out of the way," before they headed back out for the final period.

Jack did not want the game to go to overtime again. There was too much ahead of them to focus on and he knew he couldn't afford to disassociate another time. Disassociation was the first step to a full panic attack, and he hadn't had one of them since his first game with the Falconers, and he wasn't going to let something as innocuous as the Olympics set him back seven years.

The Latvians seemed to have a similar strategy after Jack won the faceoff and passed the puck over to Shitty. The large centre knocked into Jack as soon as the referee followed the puck, causing Jack to grab onto the Latvian's shirt and pull them both onto the ice. Jack slid several feet away and hopped up onto his skates, but before he could go after Kent and Shitty, already battling through the D-men, the centre hooked onto Jack's right leg and sent him to the ice again. Jack turned his head before he hit his chin, but the whistle blew and the centre received two minutes for the penalty.

"Parse, Shitty," called Jack; they both skated forward. "We've got the advantage. Shots on goal. Lots of them."

"Shots, shots, shots, shot-shot, shots," sang Shitty, his fist pumping into the air, and Jack stared at him. "No? You don't know that song?"

"No," said Jack.

"Oh," Shitty said and deflated. "Well, there will be lots of shots, Cap."

"If you ain't taking shots, get the fuck out the club," said Parse, nodding, and Shitty high-fived him before the two of them skated into position, leaving Jack confused at the faceoff circle.

Shitty caught Jack's pass and darted to the net for a shot but was knocked out of the way before he could get it off. Kent and Jack turned and headed toward the opposite end of the rink; Jack reached the puck first and checked the Latvian player out of the way; he went airborne and Jack let Kent take possession, who pivoted quickly and headed back toward the Latvian goalie. Kent took a wrist shot toward the goal, which pinged off the right pole and directly to Shitty's stick again. Shitty deflected it back, but it bounced off the goalie's thigh and sailed up and over the glass. Jack took a breath and glanced at the time – they were not going to get a clean shot on the net before the end of the power play.

At the end of his penalty, the centre exploded out of the box and headed right for Jack. He checked Jack out of the way, sending Jack flying in the opposite direction. Jack spun around before he headed for the centre again, who had already lifted his stick and sent a shot flying at Chowder. Chowder caught it in his glove. The momentum of Jack's approach was too great and Jack sailed right into him. They both slid forward, kicking up several ice shavings underneath their skates as they attempted to stop.

Before Jack could stand upright again he spotted a gloved fist coming directly for his face, and then it connected, right into his cheek where half the team had kissed him after the end of the first period. With the glove still on, the blow felt more annoying than painful, the intent clear, so Jack responded in kind with a fist to the side of the Latvian's head, but before they could go further the referee was in their faces. Jack skated backward, not wanting a penalty when they were still tied, and put his hands up. The Latvian centre stared him directly in the eyes, and Jack heard his name from the bench.

"Zimmermann, bench, now!" shouted Coach Babcock. "Second shift in – Toews, your faceoff. Keep the fighting to a minimum."

Jack sat down on the bench next to Kent, who handed Jack a bottle. Jack took a quick drink of Gatorade before he watched Toews win the next faceoff and Marty take the puck down the rink and sink it into the net with his first wrist shot.

"Fuck, really?" Kent asked. He threw his gloves onto the floor and tried not to let his disappointment show as the rest of the team exploded to their feet to celebrate the team's goal. "We're not getting any ice time before this game is over."

"At least we're in the lead again," said Jack. "Just take a break, Kent."

"Do you actually expect that to happen, Mr. If-I'm-Not-Playing-We're-Not-Winning?" Jack shook his head and handed the Gatorade back to Kent, who took another sip. They both stared longingly at the ice and Jack felt the pain in his cheek the first time. He took off his glove and touched his face; there was blood on his fingertips. "Is it bad, Kenny?"

"Nah, Zimms, just scratched. You'll probably have a bruise by the time the game is over, though."

"Great," Jack scoffed and Kent laughed.

"This either means no news or more news for you, Zimms. Maybe you'll be on the front page in the morning 'Pin Up Boy Jack Zimmermann Takes Hit For Canada in Quarterfinal.'"

"No way, too long," said Jack. "I'm thinking 'Zimmermann Hit Clinches Gold for Canada.'"

"Ha, right," said Kent.

"Well if I have to get benched for fighting, I'm glad it's with you, Parse," said Jack.

"I think there's someone else you'd rather be benched with nowadays," replied Kent. Jack looked over, his eyebrows knit in confusion. Kent nodded over to the athletes’ section. "I think there's a bitty baker back there with your name on it."

Jack looked around to the rest of the team, but no one else was paying attention after Toews took another hit on the ice. "Kent –"

"Go for it, Zimms," said Kent, but he lowered his voice and leaned in. "He's not at the apartment every day to see me."

"That's because you're locked in your room ninety percent of the time."

"Doesn't mean I can't see what's going on the other ten, and you only need ten with you, Jack, to know what you're thinking. He likes you. Go for it."

The whistle blew again; Jack looked at the ice to see the same Latvian centre in a fight with Toews. Jack looked at Kent, who looked back, and they both vaulted the boards and headed to the fight to join in.

 

***

 

      **Bitty**  
     Good luck today hun!  
  
**Bitty**  
     I just realized you probably don't understand hun  
  
**Bitty**  
     Everyone in the south calls everyone hun. Or honey. Or sweetie.  
  
**Bitty**  
     If they say your name it's like something's wrong  
  
**Bitty**  
     Ooh that center looks like a monster. What do they feed these boys in Latvia?  
  
**Bitty**  
     GOOOAAAALLLL JACK ZIMMERMANNNNNNNNNN  
  
**Bitty**  
     Aww your team loves you!  
  
**Bitty**  
     That's hooking, right? You didn't land on your chin again, did you?  
  
**Bitty**  
     WHAT THE HELL LATVIA  
  
**Bitty**  
     OH MY GOD YOU'RE BLEEDING  
  
**Bitty**  
     DID YOU SERIOUSLY GET OFF THE BENCH AND GO ONTO THE ICE TO START FIGHTING?  
  
**Bitty**  
     That was crazy! I'll be outside waiting and we can go celebrate ;)  
  
  


***

 

Bitty stood just outside the players’ entrance to the arena, one hand tucked deep into the pocket of his blue USA coat, the other clutching a small Canadian flag, which he waved frantically in front of him when Jack and Shitty exited the building with Lardo. "Good game guys!" Bitty said brightly and jogged forward toward them. Bitty landed eyes on Lardo and Jack realized that they had never met. "Um, hi," said Bitty.

"Bitty, this is Lardo," introduced Jack.

"Please tell me that's another nickname," said Bitty immediately.

"Larissa," said Lardo. She stepped out from under Shitty's arm and extended her hand to Bitty. "You're the pie baker, right? They've told me a lot about you. I'm not the team nutritionist or anything, but I do have to advise against so much sugar during a tournament."

"Just ignore her," said Shitty. "Lards doesn't understand pie. Lardo, come back to the apartment and Bitty will make you some pie. Once you have a slice your life will be changed forever –"

Lardo frowned and Shitty placed both his hands in his pockets. "Sorry," he said. "Maybe we can bring some to practice tomorrow." Bitty looked over at Jack in confusion and Jack nodded him over. Lardo waved at Bitty, a strained smile on her face, and Jack walked with Bitty away from the two of them.

"Explain," said Bitty.

"Lardo's one of the team managers. She and Shitty have been dating for years off and on and it looks like they're on right now. It's just been kind of a big deal since Shitty's only had dual citizenship for a few years and Lardo was on the selection team –"

"Oh, so people think she picked him?"

"Yeah over people who're great forwards and have been living in Canada their whole lives. I'd challenge anyone who says a thing against him, though, or her at that. I wouldn't want anyone else in the league on my right."

They headed back toward the shuttle stop and Bitty looked around. "Where's everyone else?"

"Still in the locker room. Shitty wanted to get out early with Lardo and I'll take any reason to leave a party early."

"Oh, there's a party?" Jack looked over at Bitty.

"Do you want to go back?"

"No," said Bitty quickly, "it's not my team. Did you just want to go back, then? It's kind of late, I guess."

"I think I'm too riled up to go to bed just now. That was the most physical game I think I've ever been a part of." Bitty looked over his face and his eyes settled on the large bruise on Jack's right cheekbone.

"Yeah, I can see that. Did you look at my texts?" Jack nodded and fought the smile that caught his lips. "Explain to me why you actually got off the bench and started wailing on that guy?"

"I wasn't going to let him mess with my teammates after he'd already punched me in the face. What kind of Captain would I be?"

"I don't know, a smart one? I totally thought you were going out there to pull Toews off him, and then you just sailed right in and punched him square in the jaw. I think he lost teeth."

"Nah, I'm sure he's fine," said Jack. "If he lost any teeth they were already lost to begin with and I just knocked the replacements out of his mouth."

"Jesus," Bitty whispered. "This is why I like figure skating."

"It's all in good fun, Bits, and let's be honest – it's not hockey until someone drops their mitts." Bitty shook his head in disbelief and Jack glanced at Bitty's face while Bitty's eyes were downcast. Kent's words on the bench were unexpected, but when Bitty looked back up at Jack from underneath his eyelashes, Jack could see, plain as day, what Kent had seen already.

"Do you want to come back to my apartment?" Jack blurted and his entire body went rigid as both of them stopped walking. They stood just in front of the Medals Plaza where the Olympic Cauldron lit the sky high above Bitty's head. Jack's eyes darted upward to look at the flame dancing in the light wind of early evening. There was no way he could look at Bitty – he'd said the words and Bitty was still silent.

They stood stationary for several long, intense moments before Jack gathered the courage to speak again.

"I don't know how long the boys will be out, but Shitty at least will be back before midnight –"

"Everyone in my apartment is gone," said Bitty quickly. Jack looked directly at him again and when he did, Bitty blushed furiously. There was no hiding the pink tinge of his cheeks, his neck, and into the collar of his unbuttoned coat. Jack's eyes roamed the expanse of Bitty's bare skin before settling back on Bitty's wide, hopeful eyes. Jack nodded.

"Yeah, okay."

They sat wordlessly next to each other on the shuttle, packed into a row in the middle near several other chatty athletes, pointedly not looking at each other. On the first turn momentum pressed Jack's knee into Bitty's leg and the gasp of air that Bitty drew in caused Jack's entire body to ignite. Jack looked over and caught Bitty's eye for just a moment before they both looked out the windows again.

Bitty's apartment was just one building away from Jack's and he apologized several times about the elevator being out of order, but Jack followed him up the stairs without complaint. Jack's eyes scanned the expanse of Bitty's body, allowing Bitty to lead several steps ahead. His blue coat rested just at the curve of his backside and Jack could see it bounce over and over again as Bitty's legs climbed each stair. His breath came out in a shaky gasp when Bitty reached the landing and opened the fire door to the apartment hallway.

"Sorry," he said when Jack passed by, "I know that's probably the last thing you want to do after playing hockey."

"No, it's fine," said Jack. "Which way?"

Bitty turned to the left and stopped in front of a door at the end of the hallway. He unlocked the door and stepped inside, turning on the living room light as he did so. The apartment was similar to Jack's, but the living room looked smaller since they were crammed into the corner of the building. Jack closed the door behind him and watched Bitty drop his keys onto the counter.

"So what did you want to do?" Bitty asked quietly, as if they had to keep their voices low to match the silence in the apartment. Jack stood against the door and stared into Bitty's dark eyes. Jack could feel his heart thrumming in his chest, beating harder than it had during the game, and it had nothing to do with his pleasure at winning again or the climb up several flights of stairs. It had everything to do with the boy in front of him, waiting patiently for Jack to make a decision that Jack could have made so many times before.

Jack extended his hand for Bitty to take; Bitty did, placing his small, soft hand into Jack's. Jack tugged him forward and Bitty tilted his head back to keep the eye contact. "Are you sure?" Bitty asked, his voice low and uncertain.

"Yes," whispered Jack. "Come here."

Bitty took one more step forward, enough for Jack to place his other hand on Bitty's hip and guide Bitty against him, and then Jack hunched his shoulders and brought their lips together. Bitty's body melted against him, his skin warm under the tender caress of Jack's fingers when Jack slipped his hand under Bitty's coat. Bitty sighed softly against his mouth, leaning into Jack's touch, and the aching beat of Jack's heart gradually waned as they kissed in the soothing stillness of the empty apartment.


	9. Chapter Eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I updated the tags - they may or may not apply to this chapter specifically, but be aware that this fic is rated Explicit, and I plan on being explicit :)

**BITTY x JACK**

 

Bitty awoke and Jack was still asleep, cuddled tightly against Bitty's back, Jack's arm draped across Bitty's bare waist. It took several seconds to remember why Jack was there, his breath coming in slow, steady drafts against Bitty's neck. Bitty turned carefully, not wanting to disturb him, and the first sight apart from six feet and two inches of Canadian hockey player was the clear bowl of lube and condoms that Bitty had unearthed from underneath the sink.

Jack's body was a sight to behold. The apartment was incredibly warm, the heat turned on despite the outside temperature not necessarily warranted for it, so they fell asleep packed into Bitty's twin bed with just a sheet that over the course of the night both of them seemed to have kicked off. Jack's face was peaceful in sleep, his eyes still beneath his lids, his mouth slacked open and (to Bitty's delight) drooling. Bitty took a moment to appreciate Jack openly for the first time, from the cut of his jaw and the growth of beard into it to the smooth pink of his lips, and finally to the horrible purpling bruise that took the entirety of his cheek. Bitty refrained from touching it, wanting these extra moments to appreciate Jack Zimmermann before he awoke and their new friendship was over.

Bitty swallowed hard before he let his eyes travel downward; Jack's neck was long, his muscles striping in thick lines down into his chest, which caved behind the pop of his collarbones and then swelled into the expanse of his pectorals, a tuft of black chest hair along the crease at the center. The crease continued down into his brilliantly tight abdomen, the outline of eight muscles total beneath his skin. Bitty watched his slow breath as it expanded and contracted, before he let his eyes drift up again to Jack's toned arms, not so large as to feel threatening, but large enough to bring definition to an otherwise perfect torso.

Bitty didn't allow his eyes to drift further south; he'd seen plenty the night before as he and Jack cuddled and kissed and touched from the kitchen to the living room and finally into the bedroom. Jack sank to his knees first in front of Bitty and then, once Bitty had climaxed with a cry that may or may not have been embarrassing, allowed Bitty to pump him to completion. Then, although it was still early, they fell asleep together and Bitty woke up confused and most of all disappointed. He'd let himself do this. He'd let himself fall for this straight hockey player who, up until that moment in the apartment, just wanted to be Bitty's friend. They were inside the Olympic bubble and Jeremy had warned him the first night that they attempted to fall asleep in this very room –

"Don't be surprised if someone you think is straight comes onto you after a challenging win or even a difficult loss. People change here. There aren't rules. You can get off with anyone and then never talk about it again. If you're the kind of person who gets attached too quickly it's probably best that you just don't let it happen at all."

But Bitty let it happen. He gladly let it happen and took whatever Jack would give him the night before and fell asleep satisfied. Then he awoke and the wave hit him as if he fell on the ice after a failed jump and slid face-first into the boards; he really liked Jack and didn't realize how much he liked Jack until they stood in his empty apartment together and Bitty had to choose to say goodbye to him.

Jack shifted in his sleep and his hand pushed against the small of Bitty's back. Bitty tensed and Jack must have felt it; his eyes gradually blinked open and Bitty looked into the vast expanse of Jack's beautiful blue eyes, waiting for the moment Jack realized what he'd done and made an excuse to leave. It never came – Jack's eyes roamed over Bitty's naked body before returning to Bitty's eyes, and he pulled Bitty closer to him.

"Good morning," Jack whispered.

"Good morning," Bitty replied. He felt Jack's body mold against his own and thought he'd feel relief, but instead it was just less disappointment.

Jack's lips touched his again; Bitty wanted to pull away at the taste of his own sour mouth, but Jack pushed him down onto his back and climbed on top of him, his body resting in between Bitty's legs. Bitty's hands lifted to cup the sides of Jack's face, sliding back and forth through the coarse stubble. Jack's right hand coasted down the side of Bitty's body with a feather-light touch and then rested on the back of Bitty's knee, drawing it up and against Jack's hip, which he grinded against Bitty's. A moan escaped Bitty's mouth before he could help himself, but it made Jack smile. As Jack's erection pressed up against his, Bitty went from interested to desperate and he had to stop kissing, unable to focus on anything else. Jack planted his hands on either side of Bitty's head and lifted his torso, looking down at Bitty, who opened his eyes and looked back at Jack through hooded lids.

"We didn't use all the lube last night, did we?" Jack asked. Bitty cracked a smile, surprised that he could when the lower half of his body was on fire. Bitty glanced over at the glass bowl on the nightstand and a giggle escaped his lips at the sight of it.

"I don't think that's possible."

Jack shifted his weight again, causing Bitty to whimper, and reached his hand inside the bowl to pull out a packet of lube with the Sochi 2014 logo on it. "Why would they put the logo on it?" Jack asked. "Do they have to brand absolutely everything?"

"Unh, Jack," moaned Bitty, his eyes closing again, "if you keep moving your hips like that I'm not going to be able to answer any questions." Jack chuckled and Bitty heard the sound of the packet opening and then, with a gasp, felt Jack's slick hand wrap around both of them. "Fuck, Jack…"

Jack's face buried into Bitty's neck, his lips dragging against the sensitive skin, creating a second point of pleasure, drawing the concentration away from between his legs. Bitty felt grateful for the distraction since the feeling of Jack's thick erection against his own was so overwhelming he was afraid he'd finish entirely too soon.

"God, Bits," muttered Jack into his ear. Bitty opened his eyes and looked at the ceiling over Jack's shoulder. He bit his lip and kept himself quiet as Jack's hand sped up, gripping tightly but not painfully, and then as the sunlight that poured into the room brightened, Bitty felt his body tense and nothing else was important except the swell of pressure into his cock. He pressed his lips against Jack’s skin and came with a muffled cry. Jack looked down at them and then, after three more pumps, Bitty felt Jack come as well, Jack breathing right in Bitty's ear with a low, calming sigh. Jack let go of the two of them and then rested his body on top of Bitty's, relaxing into the shape of Bitty's body beneath him.

They lay like that, silent apart from slowing breaths, Bitty's heart beating hard against his ribcage. He could feel Jack's heartbeat against him as well, steady and persistent, but not at the accelerated rate that Bitty could feel in his own chest. The silence was peaceful and as they relaxed Bitty watched the light of the room fade and brighten as the clouds passed in front of the sun.

"We should take a shower," Jack whispered into Bitty's neck. "We're all sticky."

"Yeah," agreed Bitty. Jack slowly peeled his skin off of Bitty's, their stomachs stuck together with tacky come, and then Jack stood and extended a hand to Bitty just as he did the night before when his face was full of desire. Bitty took Jack's hand and they headed out of the bedroom and into the small bathroom. Jack yawned loudly, his voice echoing off the shower stall when he switched the water on.

Jack turned back to Bitty, who'd caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror and was attempting to fix the side of his hair which stuck awkwardly to the side of his head.

"You should come to my practice today," said Jack.

Bitty looked over at Jack, his eyebrows furrowing together.

"Really?"

"Yeah. I mean, unless you're doing something else." Bitty shook his head. "It'll be kind of boring, I'm not going to lie, but Shitty's been talking smack for days about how he thinks you're not so fast and I really just want you to shut him up."

Bitty's lips cracked into a smile.

"Yeah, okay."

"Awesome." Jack put his hand under the water and made to step in before he paused and looked back at Bitty, the sneaky smile gone from his lips. "Can we…can we not tell them? About this?"

 _There it is_ , thought Bitty, but he put on a brave face and nodded.

"Yeah, that's fine."

"Not because of you. I like you. I really like you. I just…they don't know about me. I mean Parse does, but that's another story altogether and not something I want to get into today."

"It's fine, Jack. Nothing has to change."

"But just in front of them right?" Jack asked. He stepped under the shower spray and pulled Bitty in against him. "I want everything to change when we're alone."

Bitty didn't reply but he did push Jack under the water and kissed him again.

 

***

 

The practice arena was a portable rink, but when Bitty stepped inside of it he wondered how exactly they would reasonably move a structure this large to a different part of the city. He didn't voice his question and Jack left him in the stands, holding a tin with a fresh apple pie and several paper plates and forks. The least Bitty could do when intruding upon a private practice for a country that wasn't even his own was to bring baked goods. There wasn't time to bake more than one, but Jack assured Bitty if he handed it to the coaching staff they wouldn't object to his presence.

Bitty approached the player's bench and received a double-take from the team coach, but Lardo recognized him from the night before and opened the door for him to enter. "Hey," she said, "Bitty, right?" Bitty nodded. "Is that pie?"

"Yes," Bitty said, earning an intrigued look from the rest of the coaching staff, "Jack invited me to watch and I know that's kind of weird, especially since I'm not from Canada, but I promise I'm not a spy because I know you're playing the US tomorrow and that's super weird but this is for all of you if you want to have a slice."

"Fuck yeah," said Lardo. "Shitty would not shut up about this yesterday. Is that apple?" Bitty nodded. "Well you're definitely American, aren't you? Are you sure you didn't load this up with poison in an effort to sabotage our team?"

"No!" said Bitty, aghast, but Lardo laughed at him and scooped herself a slice of pie from the tin. Bitty served up four additional slices of pie for the other coaches and handed them out. Two bites in, Lardo beat her fist against the edge of the board leading to the ice and shook her head.

"Fuck, that's good," she said. "Okay, Bits, you can stay."

"Oh, good," said Bitty. He sat down on the bench next to his pie. He placed the plates atop the tin and looked up just in time to see a player check another player into the glass right next to him. He jumped, his hand at his feverishly beating heart, and Lardo laughed at him.

"Don't worry, you're fine," she said. "We haven't had a coach injured in practice as of yet and they won't be doing shooting drills in our direction." Bitty still clutched at the fabric of his hooded sweatshirt and darted his head back and forth at the players on the ice, much more alert.

Jack was right in that it was boring, but the team only ran drills and scrimmages for about an hour before Jack told them to hit the showers. Jack skated over to Bitty on the bench. "Hey," he said, "some of the boys'll stay around if you want to get out there and see what hockey's like."

"Really?" Bitty asked. "Like, actually play with you guys?"

"We won't check you," said Jack with a kind smile. "They all promised to be nice. I think you might be good at it. Put on your skates." Bitty pulled his skates out of his backpack.

"What the fuck are those?" Lardo asked.

"My skates," said Bitty.

"You can't play hockey in those," said Lardo. "How the hell are you going to turn around?" Bitty shrugged his shoulders. "Hold up. You're what, five-eight?"

"Five-seven," said Bitty, neglecting to mention that he wasn't quite that either.

"Same thing. Marty! Marty, come back here!" An older man with a bucket of pucks was just about to head into the tunnel. He turned around and skated to the box. "Bitty, this is Marty – Martin St. Louis. Marty, I need your skates."

"My skates?" Marty asked. "Why?"

"Bitty doesn't have hockey skates. Just for a little bit." Marty looked over at Bitty, who tried very hard not to blush but instead failed miserably. Marty passed the bucket of pucks to another player and then hopped into the booth and began to remove his skates, but he didn't look pleased to be doing so. He handed the skates to Bitty and then took the long way around to get to the locker room. Bitty put his feet in them and laced them up, and while the size was fine, the fit was very wrong.

"They're really loose," said Bitty.

"Yeah, they're hockey skates," said Lardo. "Let me see." She knelt in front of him and checked the lacing and fit. "They're fine. Don't fall. I don't want to be responsible for an injury to a silver medalist." Bitty laughed nervously before he carefully climbed over the board and placed his feet on the ice. He wobbled a bit in the skates before he grew accustomed to the fit. Jack was watching from the other side of the rink, standing next to Chowder's goal.

Bitty didn't skate over immediately, still trying to get used to the differences in the boot and blades, and instead skated in broad circles in the empty half of the rink. His balance was all wrong when he shifted direction, trying to skate backward – the end goal was to try a jump but that was a bad idea. He instead shifted directions several times and then picked up speed as he headed over to Jack and the rest of the boys. He came to a stop, kicking up ice in Jack’s direction.

"Okay," said Bitty, "I think I got it. What are we doing?"

Jack handed Bitty a stick.

"You'll be my left wing. Shitty'll be on the right. We'll face Ransom and Holster and try to score on Chowder."

"I'll go easy," said Chowder happily.

"And we promise we won't check you," said Ransom. "But we will get in your way."

"Okay," said Bitty again. He clutched the stick but Jack immediately changed his grip on it. Bitty bit his lips when Jack's fingers touched his but he didn't say anything and definitely did not look up at Jack. "Okay, I think I got it. Are you going to pass it to me?"

"Yep. And when Ransom or Holster get in your face, pass it either to me or to Shitty, whoever is open. Try to avoid them and skate past them, spin if you have to, but don't let them push you into the boards. You're the left wing so try to stay on this side."

Bitty was nervous, which was ridiculous since Ransom and Holster had already promised not to hit him.

"What do I do if I have a clear shot?" Bitty asked.

"Then shoot it," said Jack.

Bitty didn't ask how shooting worked. Over the past two games that he'd watched, Jack had taken several different types of shots, all of them ending with the puck in different areas of the net. Bitty looked at the net and Chowder seemed to cover absolutely all of it – even though Chowder was just as skinny as Bitty, he was massive with his protective padding on. His padding was considerably thicker than anyone else's and Bitty definitely never wanted to be a goalie.

Jack was juggling the puck back and forth in his stick, waiting for Bitty to be ready. Bitty nodded and placed his stick to the ice. Jack put both hands on his stick and gently passed the puck over to Bitty. Bitty caught it with the end of his stick and didn't quite understand how to juggle it like Jack did, but did manage to skate forward the puck mostly in his control. Ransom let him get used to it first before he headed in Bitty's direction, but as soon as Ransom got anywhere close, Bitty flicked the end of his stick and passed it to Jack, who caught it and evaded Holster by circling back behind Chowder. Ransom left Bitty to pursue Jack, who passed the puck back to Bitty. Ransom turned on a dime and headed back toward Bitty, trying to get in front of Chowder, but there was a clear shot and Chowder, his eyes on the puck, had left the right corner of the net open.

Bitty drew the stick back and hit the puck toward the net, not at all confident that it would even land in the vicinity of the goal, but with a loud PING it hit the post and bounced away.

"Hey!" said Jack, his arms up in the air. "That was so close!"

Bitty stopped and blushed. Shitty chased after the puck and Jack beckoned Bitty back toward the center of the rink, where they lined up again. This time Jack passed the puck to Shitty. Bitty stayed further back, close to the blue line, and Ransom was shifting back and forth between Jack and Bitty, but keeping close to Bitty. Bitty backed up toward the board but, just as quickly, remembered what Jack had said. He hadn't tried a tight spin in the hockey skates but when Shitty passed the puck to Jack, Bitty hit the ice with his stick, getting Jack's attention. Jack smiled and passed it back to Bitty, who reached for the puck. Ransom was hovering close now and Bitty tried to dart in front of him, but Ransom anticipated Bitty's direction, so instead Bitty spun in the other direction, the puck following him, and skated right by Ransom and approached the net, where he flicked the puck at Chowder, who was ready for him. Chowder reached out and caught the puck in his glove.

Jack sent Chowder a glare and Chowder dipped his shoulders, embarrassed, and tossed the puck into the net.

"GOAL!" shouted Chowder and Bitty laughed.

"It's okay, you got me," said Bitty.

"What was that spinorama, Bits?" Shitty asked as he approached. "That was genius!"

"I like to spin," said Bitty, shrugging.

"Yeah, we know," said Ransom. "You spun at least a billion times in your routine."

"Probably not a billion," said Bitty. "Come on, I want to try again! Chowder, I am going to score on you. Just you wait!"

Jack, Shitty, and Bitty skated back toward center ice, but Jack approached Bitty before they got there. "You're actually pretty good," said Jack.

"Actually? Actually pretty good? I'm offended, Mr. Zimmermann; it's like you have no faith in me."

"Okay, sorry," said Jack with a chuckle, "but you're shooting in the same spot. It's kind of expected that you're going to shoot to the right if you're coming from the left. Try to shoot to the other side of the net. He's really strong glove side but if you see an opportunity to get it in the corner on the other side you can probably get it past him."

"Okay. How many times would I have been checked if we were playing for real?"

"A couple times," said Jack, "but you're fast. You can probably spin past it every time, even if they think you're going to." Bitty nodded. "I'll get it to you from behind the net. Try to skate into the center and tap it in from there."

Jack passed the puck to him and tapped his stick for Bitty to pass it right back. Bitty did and Jack headed toward the right side of the net. Holster slammed into him but Jack skated through it and went behind the net again. Ransom had his eyes only on Bitty this time, not on the puck or any of the other players, and Bitty kept Jack in his peripheral vision. He faked right and Ransom followed, but then Ransom darted back left as if expecting Bitty to spin again. Bitty spun right and Jack passed without Bitty's eyes on him; Bitty came out of the spin and stuck out his stick for the puck, which he caught and then immediately flicked up into the upper left corner of the night. Chowder slid over and reached up his arm to block but he was too late – the puck sailed over Chowder's right shoulder and into the net.

"OHHHH!" shouted Shitty, both his arms up in the air.

"Do a celly!" Holster yelled. Bitty looked at Holster, confused. "Celebrate! Do your celebration dance!" Shitty grabbed Bitty's arms and raised them into the air, lifting Bitty right off the ice, and Bitty yelped in surprise. Ransom and Holster caught Bitty in a group hug.

"Oof, guys, I don't have pads on –"

"You're a natural, Bits!" said Ransom. "I was legit trying to block you!"

"But you couldn't touch me –"

"Yeah, but I'd need to catch you to touch you," said Ransom. "Do they have a hockey team at Samwell? You should play!" Bitty squirmed and they finally let go of him.

"I think so," said Bitty. "I don't think they're very good."

"Even better! You're probably better than all of them!" Bitty looked at Jack, who had a sexy smirk on his face, and Bitty felt desire sink down his stomach at the sight of it.

"Um… I think that's enough for today," said Jack.

"Wait!" said Shitty. "I was promised a race!"

"Okay, okay," said Jack, "but then we have to rest up for tomorrow. Bitty – you okay to race?" Bitty nodded.

"Yeah, I want to see how fast all y'all are," said Bitty. "Especially you, Jack."

They maneuvered the nets out of the way so all of them could race around the rink side by side, but after ten minutes on the ice with them, Bitty knew that even in unfamiliar hockey skates not a single one of them stood a chance. They lined up at the center line, Bitty in the middle with Ransom and Holster on his left and Shitty and Jack to his right against the boards. Chowder, still in a thousand pounds of padding, chose to be the referee.

"Ready?" Chowder asked. "Set. Go!"

Bitty took off, his body bent low, his left hand on his lower back, his right arm swinging with his step. After two strides Shitty already shouted, "What the fuck, Bitty? We went easy on you!" but Bitty had no desire to take it easy. On the first curve he took a look behind him; Jack was the closest about five feet behind, Shitty just flanking him, Ransom and Holster about even behind Shitty, but they were already starting to push each other and in the process were losing speed. Bitty smiled coyly at Jack, who pursed his lips and attempted to gain speed, but Bitty sprinted ahead at the next turn.

"Go Bitty!" yelled Chowder from the center of the ice. "No one is even close!"

Bitty looked behind him again after the length of the rink; there was absolutely no competition. Jack was still at center ice when Bitty took the next turn, Shitty about twenty feet behind, Ransom and Holster still fighting, no longer making any forward progress and stuck at the second curve. Bitty looked forward again, took the final curve and darted toward the finish line with a smug smile on his lips.

After he crossed Chowder yelled, "BITTY FOR THE WIN!" Bitty turned around, his hands on his hips, trying to hide that he was breathing hard, and stared into Jack's eyes as Jack came directly for him. Jack didn't stop at the finish line and Bitty realized what was going to happen before he could stop it. Jack reached out both hands and pulled Bitty up off the ice and against Jack in a crushing hug. Jack spun them around in a slow, wide circle, and then gently set Bitty back down on his skates. Shitty took this as a cue to do the same, and before Bitty could object he had been lifted and placed back down again four times.

Jack skated with Bitty back to the bench where Bitty's backpack and skates sat next to an empty pie tin. "Whoa, they ate all of it," said Bitty. "I guess I should have expected that." Jack helped him over the board; Bitty removed the borrowed skates and handed them back to Jack before putting on his sneakers.

"Do you want to get lunch?" Jack asked. Bitty nodded. "Okay. I'm a disaster so I'm going to take another shower and then I'll meet you up at the front, okay?"

"Okay."

Shitty skated over. "Lardo wanted to make sure I told you thanks for the pie," he said. "She and the coaches had to bail for strategy so she only saw part of it, but she thinks you're pretty good."

"Oh, thanks," said Bitty. "It was fun."

"You should look into the hockey team at Samwell," said Shitty.

"I don't know how I feel about getting checked," said Bitty.

"It's not so bad," said Jack. "You've got pads on."

"Says the guy with a bruise for a face," said Bitty.

"That's from fighting. They don't allow fighting in college hockey."

"Well that's a blessing, I suppose," said Bitty. "I'll meet you outside, okay Jack?"

"Yeah –"

"You guys going to lunch?" Shitty asked. Bitty caught eyes with Jack, who looked back, disappointed.

"Yeah."

"Awesome. I'll meet you out front." Shitty skated away and Bitty picked up the pie tin from the bench.

"Sorry," said Jack.

"No, it's fine," said Bitty. "You'll just have to come back to my apartment after." Jack nodded and the smirk caught his lips again. Bitty saw it and straightened his posture, as if straight shoulders would somehow negate the desire that Jack's smirk caused in the depths of Bitty's stomach. "You behave, Mr. Zimmermann."

"You started it," said Jack, "looking at me like that when we were racing. I could have gotten you if it were a fair match."

"Fair? Ha! You wouldn't have caught me if I had one skate and a boulder tied to my waist." Jack stared back down at Bitty and Bitty gulped – that was going to come back to bite him later, and part of him couldn't wait.


	10. Chapter Nine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many kudos to luckiedee for her beta work on this. Without her, this chapter would have looked very different. 
> 
> Please note that Jack goes into details of his overdose here, so if that bothers you might want to skip the end of this one.

**BITTY x JACK**

 

Jack had originally wanted to go off the Olympic grounds for lunch, somewhere not touristy so they could be alone without having to worry about other athletes asking questions or potential fans recognizing either one of them – Jack was used to it, but Bitty still blushed furiously when he was approached for an autograph or a picture. There was winning the US Championship fame and then there was Silver Medalist at the Olympics fame, and Bitty was still getting used to the latter.

Shitty, however, had no desire to leave the park, and Shitty was the loudest of the three of them, so Jack and Bitty reluctantly followed him to the Building D cafeteria where they loaded up their plates with nutritious and boring food and sat at a table within earshot of other athletes. Jack sat next to Bitty, their thighs pressed tightly together, and Shitty sat on the other side of the table. Both Jack and Bitty had picked out sensible meals for the amount of calories they needed to consume – Bitty had a large spinach salad with chicken, hard boiled eggs, carrots, and croutons; Jack a generous helping of broccoli on the side of three pork chops and pasta – but Shitty had three pints of milk and a plate of cooked zucchini.

"Please tell me you plan to get something else," said Bitty when Shitty opened his bottle of milk and started to chug it.

"Nah, brah, I've got everything I need right here. Vegetables and protein." Bitty looked at Jack, who just shook his head, and Bitty purposely ignored the other half of the table while Shitty drank the rest of his milk. Jack followed suit and looked down at his food but then, as he was looking down, noticed Bitty reach under the table and rest his hand on Jack's knee. Jack had to look up again to prevent himself from jumping out of his skin. Shitty was staring at Jack when Jack looked up.

"What, Shits?" Jack asked.

"So where were you last night, Cap?" Shitty asked, a cocky grin on his lips. "I may not have gotten home until late, but you didn't come back at all."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Jack said.

"Yeah, okay," said Shitty. Shitty looked at Bitty. "Did he tell you the chick he bagged last night?"

"Nope," said Bitty, and Bitty squeezed Jack's knee under the table. Jack shoved a large piece of broccoli in his mouth. "What makes you think it was a chick?"

Jack began choking on his overlarge piece of broccoli, shifting away from Bitty, and Shitty started laughing. "I like you, Bits," said Shitty. "Far be it from me to assume anything heteronormative. What makes you think it's not a girl?"

"I'm not saying it wasn't," said Bitty, "but it's pretty heteronormative of you to assume Jack hooked up with a chick last night."

"What makes anyone think I hooked up with anyone last night?" asked Jack after he finally recovered. "And why are we still talking about this?" Shitty looked at Bitty.

"Oh yeah, he hooked up with someone. All right, Zimmermann, give me the deets. Man or woman?"

"Oh my God," said Jack. "I am not saying another word."

"Okay, okay," said Shitty, putting his hands up. "I won't press. Bitty, you've got to tell me what's up when he spills the beans to you later, though, because he likes you more than he likes any of us and something tells me he'll fess up to you." Bitty laughed.

"Yeah, okay, if you haven't died of lactose poisoning by then," said Bitty. Shitty opened his third pint of milk and downed half of it in one go. After he slammed the empty plastic bottle on the table and emitted the longest belch Bitty had ever heard in his lifetime, Shitty wiped his lips and turned to Bitty again.

"So tell me, Bitty, is it not politically correct to ask if you are gay? I don't want to be rude or anything but you're giving me some serious gay vibes."

"I don't think that's polite, Shits," said Jack.

"I only think it is if you're wrong," said Bitty with a shrug, "which you're not."

"So you are gay? Awesome. You know who else is gay? Half the Canadian figure skating team. Do you know them? Lardo and I were hanging out with them after the game last night and they had some choice things to say about you – not in, like, a negative way, but in a 'That boy is hot. Is he taken?' sort of way." Bitty glanced over at Jack, who continued to not be part of the conversation. "What do you think? We've only got three more days before the closing ceremonies to partake in the debauchery that is the latter half of the Olympic Games. I heard they had to order more condoms because people've run out already."

"Already?" Bitty asked. "There was a gigantic bowl full of them in our apartment. How could you possibly go through them that quickly?"

"People need to let loose after competition's over. I have it on good authority that the bowl in our apartment is nearly empty, and that's just after the ridiculous amount of orgies Ransom and Holster have been hosting in their room."

"Jesus H. Christ," muttered Bitty.

"I'd say they could just take the rest of the bowl, but now they might want to leave some behind for Jackie boy over here."

"That's enough, Shits," said Jack. "Maybe I spent the night practicing to make up for your inability to shoot a puck into a net." Shitty placed both his hands over his heart.

"Ouch, daggers, Cap. Daggers." Shitty picked up his fork to begin on his zucchini when two trays clattered loudly onto the table next to him. Ransom and Holster plopped onto the table with mounds of food on their plates. "Ah, boys, you joined us!"

"Way to include us in lunch plans," said Ransom. "Holtz and I are mad offended."

"MAD offended," echoed Holster.

"Yeah, well, we wanted to be alone," said Jack. Shitty batted his eyelashes across the table and Bitty squeezed Jack's knee again.

"Shitty was just telling us about your epic nightly orgies," said Bitty. Both Ransom and Holster laughed and then proceeded to high-five each other before they grew serious and leaned forward.

"Boys, the chicks are on the prowl right now," said Ransom. "The medal matches for women's hockey are today and those who did not make it are looking for a hot ass mother fucker to turn to for comfort, and it just so happens you have two hot ass mother fuckers right here who are up for anything. Anything, yo!"

"Like, there were some bomb Russian babes who came to our game last night after they lost to Finland on Tuesday? They were freaky as hell," said Holster.

"Don't you think you should maybe not take advantage of the host nation's hockey players after they lose a game?" Bitty asked.

"There was no advantage taken, Bits," said Ransom. "Those girls came up to us after the game and outright asked for some sick NHL love. Let's be real here, not all of them were looking for love in our direction, but Ransom and Holster are open for business no matter the orientation."

"See?" said Shitty, "no heteronormative judgment here, Bits. Ransom and Holster know what's up and don't assume."

"Heteronormative?" asked Holster. "Shits, what does that even mean?"

"Heteronormativity is when people think everyone falls into distinct and complementary genders and assumes that heterosexuality is the only sexual orientation.”

“Counselor Shits over here," said Ransom. "Did you go to law school before you were drafted?"

"Nah, bro, but I might have if the Habs never came calling. There was no reason for me to turn down a chance to shove my family's reputation down the shitter."

"Is that why we call you Shitty?" Holster asked.

"Man, I don't know why you call me Shitty."

Bitty finished eating his salad and looked at Jack's plate; Jack was also finished. Bitty squeezed his knee again to get his attention and Jack – whose eyes had glazed over from inattention as soon as Ransom and Holster sat down – looked over. Bitty nodded to the exit.

"Yeah," said Jack. "Listen, guys, as much fun as this incredibly disgusting conversation is, I'm leaving. Keep your voices down – we might be in the athletes’ cafeteria but we still represent Canada here. Keep the deets in the bedroom."

"Yeah, yeah, Cap," said Holster, waving his hand. "You're always the voice of reason." Jack and Bitty stood. Shitty, who was now in deep discussion with Holster about the type of lawyer he'd be if he weren't a professional hockey player, remained behind and luckily neither Jack nor Bitty needed to make an excuse to cross over to Building C.

"I hope none of those guys offended you," said Jack when they entered the empty stairwell to Building C. Bitty looked behind him and shook his head.

"No, they're vulgar for sure but they're just out for a good time," said Bitty. Jack followed Bitty up the stairs, down the hallway, and into Bitty's apartment. Bitty dropped his keys on the counter and turned around. "I don't think they're the only ones out for a good time."

"No?" Jack asked, his eyebrow lifted.

"Nope, something tells me if it were just you and me on the ice today you would have fucked me through the goal." Jack chuckled and crowded Bitty's personal space, placing one hand on Bitty's thigh and the other directly on his ass.

"Maybe," said Jack. Jack began to run his fingers up and down Bitty's back. Bitty closed his eyes and sighed happily. "Maybe I would have just kissed you against the boards until you sighed like that."

"Do you want to?" Bitty asked, breathless, enjoying the feeling of Jack's light touch and the ghost of Jack's breath against his skin.

"What?" Jack asked. "Kiss you?"

"No," said Bitty. "Well, yes, but… do you want to? Have sex?" Jack's fingers trailed up Bitty's back, up and around his neck, and to his chin, which he tilted upward. Bitty opened his eyes to see Jack looking directly back down at him.

"Right now?" Jack asked. Bitty nodded. "Have you ever done that before?" Bitty blushed and shook his head, not breaking eye contact.

"No," said Bitty. "Have you? With a guy, I mean?"

"Yes, but not for a long time," said Jack. "It can be intense. I know you have the exhibition thing on Saturday and the last thing I want to do is hurt you."

"The Gala's just for fun. We do stupid choreographed dances and play air guitar and twerk and stuff." Jack's eyebrow raised at the thought of Bitty twerking. "I don't even know if I'm going to jump. We can – we can go slow. If you want to, that is."

Jack thought about Bitty on top of the creaky twin bed, panting heavily, his eyes closed, beads of sweat at his hairline as he moaned Jack's name and Jack, in that moment, very much wanted to. Jack nodded, practically imperceptibly, and Bitty smiled. "Okay," Bitty whispered. He took both of Jack's hands and walked backward toward the bedroom. "I'm assuming that means you want to top, since you're worried about hurting me."

"Yeah, if that's what you want," said Jack. "With Parse I usually –"

Bitty froze in his footsteps, dropping both of Jack's hands, and Jack stared at Bitty, his eyes wide as he realized the mistake he made. Bitty stared back at him and nothing was said for a full minute, until Bitty forced his eyes back into their sockets and cleared his throat.

"You…you had sex with Kent Parson?" Bitty asked.

"Yes," said Jack, since there was no way he could possibly deny it. "Listen, Bitty, it was when we were in Juniors and he is not out to  _ anybody _ , so you cannot say anything."

"No! No, I wouldn't say anything!" said Bitty, putting both his hands in the air. "I promise I won't say anything! I'm just… I mean there were rumors, and people like to speculate, but I had no idea any of it was true."

"A lot of it isn't true," said Jack, feeling very defensive even though he knew Bitty did not mean to attack or judge. "Almost none of it is true. It's just – what happened between Parse and I was really intense and it hurt both of us in a lot of different ways. It's not something I feel really comfortable talking about."

"No, no, I understand," said Bitty and he shook his head. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry I brought it up."

"It's fine," said Jack.

"Do you – do you still want to –?"

"Yes," said Jack firmly. "Absolutely." Jack stepped forward, tilted Bitty's chin up again, and leaned in close. "I've been thinking about this all day."

"Mmm, me too," said Bitty. "Come on." Jack stole a kiss, just briefly, before Bitty tugged on his hand again. Jack followed Bitty into the bedroom, where Bitty turned around and unbuttoned his coat. Jack waited, close to the door, his eyes glued to Bitty’s fingers. The fingers threw Bitty’s coat onto Jeremy’s bed, then tugged down the zipper on Bitty’s vest. The vest accompanied the coat, but when Bitty began to unbutton his shirt, Jack couldn’t contain the chirp desperate to surface:

"Jesus, Bits, how many shirts do you have on?"

Bitty’s fingers stopped and dropped to his waist.

"Jack Zimmermann," he said and Jack smiled.

"I’m sorry. Continue."

"No, you come here," ordered Bitty. Jack stepped forward and took over the removal of layer number three and paused before he slipped the shirt off of Bitty’s shoulders. Bitty looked up at him and his eyes were expansive and unsullied, which interrupted Jack’s focus.

"Look at you," Jack whispered, lifting his hand to cup the side of Bitty’s face, and the familiar pinkness of the beginning of a blush spread underneath his touch. Jack’s eyes latched onto the smile that tugged at one corner of Bitty’s lips and then, without hesitation, Jack pressed his own against them and pushed Bitty toward the bed. Bitty removed the unbuttoned shirt and threw it on the floor before he landed on his back with Jack atop him, kissing hard. There was no longer time for casual touches, or lighthearted chirping – Jack wanted nothing more than to be completely connected to Bitty.

Nothing interrupted their fevered kissing apart from two more shirts that landed on the floor together. Jack tugged Bitty’s jeans and underwear off without breaking contact; Bitty followed suit just as quickly, and each kicked off his own socks before the settled together, Jack in between Bitty’s legs. Bitty’s body was lithe, soft beneath Jack’s hands, but there was an underlying strength that Jack could feel as he put his hands everywhere – over Bitty’s arms, his chest, the expanse of his back, and finally, as Jack could no longer handle the desperation in their kiss, in between the curve of Bitty's ass.

"Oh, Jack," Bitty moaned against Jack’s lips. Jack opened his eyes to see that Bitty was already lost in his desire; Jack sank his fingers deeper and one brushed gently over the rim of Bitty’s hole. Bitty took in a deep, sharp breath at the first touch but eased back into what appeared to be utter bliss.

"Bits, look at me," said Jack. He did. "Are you nervous?" Bitty shook his head.

"No. You’ve got me, right?" Jack nodded.

"Yeah, Bits. I’ve got you."

Bitty shifted to dive his hand into the glass bowl. He emerged with three packets of lubricant and a condom, which he handed to Jack. Jack opened the lube and warmed it between his fingers before returning to Bitty’s opening and gently prodding at it. Jack watched Bitty’s face as Bitty accepted him in, looking for signs of discomfort, but Bitty looked back at him with nothing more than heat and want. It brought Jack back to the ice rink, when Bitty glanced over his shoulder to see how far behind Jack was, and it caused an ache to sink into the pit of Jack’s belly and a growl to rumble low in Jack’s throat. Bitty smirked again but Jack had placed another finger inside of him and he winced.

"You okay?" Jack immediately asked.

"Yeah, yeah," whispered Bitty. "Keep going."

Jack took his time, sliding his slick fingers in and out of Bitty, watching the anticipation grow in the lines and hues on Bitty’s skin. It was several minutes before he attempted a third finger, and by that time Bitty’s body writhed against the plain white sheets. "Jack," he was muttering into a pillow which he had pulled up against his face, "how much longer? I want you."

"Fuck, Bits," Jack said. "You are so sexy right now."

"Please, Jack –"

"Okay, but if it’s too much, stop me."

"Yes, fine, but please –"

Jack gently removed his fingers and reached for the condom that had lost itself in the sheets under Bitty's incessant squirming. After rolling it on and slicking himself with the second packet of lube, Jack looked over Bitty's raw, naked body. Bitty was open and waiting for him, the flush from his cheeks spread over the expanse of his skin, down his chest and into his abdomen, blotchy red patches like a roadmap of places to kiss. Jack, however, could not remove the thought of Bitty's smug grin on the ice in front of him, and instead of settling in, he tapped Bitty's hip.

"Turn over."

Bitty turned and Jack knelt behind him, and the moment happened sooner than Jack expected: as Jack lined himself up, Bitty looked over his shoulder, his bangs flopping messily over his forehead. He looked debauched, the length of his bare body in front of Jack, the sight culminating in a sinewy, sculpted shoulder and wide eyes of anticipation behind it.

"Oh man," Jack breathed and hoped Bitty was prepared enough, because one more moment without being inside of him was one moment too many. He gently pushed forward, watching Bitty's face closely, but Bitty let out a groan and dropped his face into his pillow when the head of Jack's cock breached him. Jack paused, letting Bitty breathe it out, and then Bitty looked back at him again and nodded. Jack pushed in further, slowly, and the agony of the pace was beginning to addle his concentration. He focused purely on Bitty's face and then finally reached the hilt.

Bitty dropped his head back into his pillow and continued to breathe heavily.

"You okay, Bits?"

"Just give me a minute," said Bitty's muffled voice. Jack breathed with him, long and slow, forcing himself to ignore the slick heat of Bitty around his desperate and aching cock. It had been a very long time since he'd done this, and while he'd been with women in the interim, nothing compared to the tightness and warmth. "Okay, okay. Go ahead." Jack offered a small, shallow thrust, knowing Bitty would stop him, and he did. They breathed together again, then Bitty nodded again and Jack began to move again, going slow, his eyes closing at the sensation. Bitty was beginning to pant, not out of pain or discomfort, and Jack was able to thrust in earnest.

"Ohh fuck," said Bitty into the pillow, and his body began to lose all sense of control; his knees gave out and the angle Jack entered him changed as Bitty lay face-down on the bed, letting Jack work him from behind. "Oh Lord, Jack, I think I get why people do this all the time."

Jack laughed but couldn't form a substantial reply, completely immersed in feeling, both Bitty around him and Bitty under him. He leaned forward and rested his front on Bitty's back; Bitty turned his head again and caught Jack's lips in a quick, quiet kiss before Jack propped himself up on his elbows. Bitty's responsiveness was growing, both in his voice and how he began to buck back, but before long Bitty's rhythm became erratic.

"Fuck, I'm so close," said Bitty.

"Unh, me too," muttered Jack into Bitty's shoulder. He kissed a patch of blotchy skin there and then began to feel Bitty clench around him. He began to thrust harder, Bitty lost in his orgasm, and as Bitty began to come down, Jack felt his own climax creep through him. He stilled, buried deep inside Bitty, and came with his face in Bitty's neck.

"Oh my God," Bitty said. He reached behind him and gently rubbed Jack's head. "Oh my God, I didn't expect that to actually be good."

"Thanks for your confidence," said Jack into his neck. Bitty giggled.

"No, no… I thought it was just going to be painful and awkward. I mean, it was kind of painful, but you – you are amazing."

"You're amazing," Jack replied. He kissed into Bitty's neck and Bitty sighed again. Jack's heart leapt at the sound of it and he gently pulled out so he could press his ear against the center of Bitty's back. Bitty's heart beat steadily there, a steady and persistent  _ thump thump _ under Jack's ear. Jack closed his eyes and just listened.

 

***

 

Bitty was curled up against Jack, his head on Jack's chest, his arm draped around Jack's waist. Jack was trailing his fingers along Bitty's back again, just lightly, hoping to hear that soft sigh yet again. Bitty did, causing Jack to smile and kiss his forehead. Bitty turned and placed his chin on Jack's chest, looking up at him with large brown eyes. Bitty looked as if he was fighting an internal battle, which he lost when Jack brushed the blond hair out of his eyes.

"I think I'm going to miss you," Bitty whispered.

"It's not like we're far away from each other," Jack said. "Providence is probably less than an hour away from Samwell."

"True," said Bitty, "but it'll be different when we leave here. I just feel very close to you right now."

"Well you are," said Jack with a small smile. "You're right on top of me."

"I think I liked it better when you were on top of me," teased Bitty and Jack swelled with emotion – he grabbed Bitty around the waist and pulled Bitty directly on top of him, taking the moment to rake his eyes over every exposed inch of Bitty's skin. Bitty leaned forward and kissed him. Jack responded with hunger, but Bitty let go of him too soon and sat up again. "Mmm, no, I think I need a break after that."

"Are you okay?" Jack asked for what seemed like the thousandth time since they got into the bed.

"Yes, Jack, I'm fine," said Bitty. "Better than fine."

Jack held onto Bitty's hips and centered Bitty's weight before he looked back up the expanse of Bitty's body, up the crease in his abs to his small but muscular chest, over his fit shoulders and long neck. Bitty was beautiful – there was no other word for it – and Jack understood what Bitty meant by feeling very close to him.

"I used to take anxiety meds when I was a teenager," said Jack before he realized he was saying it. "I was on medication practically the entirety of my teenage years. It's difficult, you know, being the son of someone like Bad Bob Zimmermann. Everyone expects you to be great and when it turns out you are, it's not an achievement. It's just what you were supposed to do. No one ever told me I was doing a good job, or that I was good for my age, or even that I had bright future ahead of me. It was all just what my dad had done when he was my age, the kind of career my dad had had, and was I even good enough to live up to it? Not getting drafted was not an option."

"But you did get drafted, didn't you?"

"I did, but it didn't end up all trophies and endorsement deals like I thought," said Jack. He continued to run his fingers over Bitty's skin and it helped, a bit, to see Bitty lean into his touch. "Parse and I first hooked up when we were sixteen. He was my best friend, had been my best friend for years. He was my wingman, always there when I looked for him. We just clicked, you know? When we were on the ice we were unstoppable, and then one day he was sleeping over like he'd done a thousand times and he woke up at two o'clock in the morning and kissed me and I let him and I liked it. It changed everything, some of it for the better. We were so in sync with each other both on and off the ice, but then he'd leave early in the morning and I'd just lay in my bed shaking because I was terrified my dad would walk in on us, or somehow know, and add that to all the papers saying that it was either going to be him or me going first in the draft and I was just terrified of what that meant. Being first in the draft was so important to me, but it was important to him too. I knew it. We talked about it. He wanted me to have it, he'd say, but I knew he wanted it for himself. It was his first shot to really prove that he was better than me when I was the one people had always been talking about."

"And he went first, right?" Bitty asked.

"He did. I remember they called his name and I just – I lost it. There was a camera on me and I tried to be happy for him, but I think I just looked pissed. I was second and went to the Falconers and I was so, so angry that I wasn't first. And it turned out it was all for nothing, really – the Aces knew they had first pick. The Falconers knew they were picking second and the Falcs wanted me more. They traded additional picks to the Aces just so they could get me. Being first was so important to me and in the end I was second only because the Falconers wanted me more… but I didn't know that until later."

"So what happened?" Bitty asked gently, his hands softly running over Jack's chest hair. "What happened when you – when you overdosed?"

"My relationship with Parse was stressful enough that I was already taking more medication that I should have been," said Jack. "It was fine when we were together but then he'd go home, or fall asleep, and I'd just lie there and think 'What if someone walked in? What if someone saw us?' and then I'd go straight into a panic attack. Sometimes he'd be there to calm me down but most of the time it happened when I was alone, so I'd just take another pill to calm myself down. Then the draft was coming up and I'd freak out about that and take another pill to calm down. After the draft happened and I went second, there was a lot of media attention on it. Nobody really knew the details of why, and neither did I at that point. There was a lot of talk of me having to settle for second place, about how I had to settle not only being second to Parse but second to my dad, always second. I'm not even sure what caused it that time, really. I remember I was at home alone and I could feel it coming on – the room looked wrong, like I was watching a movie of it instead of living it, which is usually the first sign. I went into the bathroom and grabbed my pills, but the room was spinning – and that was usually step two. Things start to look off first, then they start to spin, and then I feel like my heart is going to explode in my chest. I just dumped a bunch of pills in my hand and swallowed them, and then my heart started going. Not beating hard like it usually did when I was in the middle of a panic attack, but beating fast. Too fast."

Jack clutched at Bitty's hands on his chest and Bitty leaned forward.

"Sweetie, you don't have to keep going," Bitty said gently. Jack shook his head.

"No, no, I want to get this out," said Jack. "My legs gave out from under me and I fell on the bathroom floor. I don't know how long I was there but then suddenly my heart wasn't beating too fast. It felt like it wasn't beating fast enough, like it wasn't going to keep going, and that's when I heard Parse yell my name. I opened my eyes and he was in front of me, hitting my face and yelling, and sometimes I remember what he says and sometimes it's just noise when I think about it. I remember his eyes, though. His eyes change color a lot but this time they were gray, because after I looked into his eyes the rest of the room turned that color, and that's the last I remember. I woke up two days later in the hospital with my parents crying over me like I was about to die. Parse was already in Vegas. I didn't see him again. Not until I got bumped up from minors and played him for the first time on the Falconers."

"Did you love him?" Bitty asked. Jack thought about it.

"No, I don't think so," said Jack. "He loved me, though. I don't think I was in a place where I could love him back."

"Do you still take medication?"

"No. No, I don't trust it. I have a therapist who's taught me a lot of different ways that I can control my anxiety. It still gets bad sometimes, but nothing like it used to. I don't have as much stress now. I've been Captain of the Falconers for three seasons. Apart from maybe a Stanley Cup, there's nothing really left for me to achieve. People don't compare me to my father anymore – well, not as much as they used to."

"That's good." 

"Yes, that's good,” said Jack with a nod.

They settled into silence. Bitty drew circles on Jack's chest and Jack touched Bitty's arms and legs and simply looked at him for as long as Bitty allowed. After several minutes, Bitty locked eyes with Jack again.

"Jack?"

"Hmm?"

"Why did you tell me that?"

"Because I trust you," said Jack. "And I wanted you to know the truth."

Bitty leaned forward and gently pressed his lips against Jack's.

"Thank you," he whispered. Jack kissed him again and they settled against each other, basking in each other's bodies in the mid-afternoon sun.


	11. Chapter Ten

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If any of you are confused as to why there are 18 chapters now instead of 17, I totally missed in my document that I had two Chapter Elevens... So the story is the same length it's always been, I've just been wrong the whole time.

**BITTY x JACK**

 

      **Katya**  
     Time for practice. I'll be there in ten minutes.

Bitty opened his eyes to the sound of his phone vibrating. He pulled it off the nightstand, looked at it, and groaned before he dropped it back on the nightstand with a loud clatter. Jack stirred behind him and gently touched Bitty's stomach.

"What is it?" Jack asked into Bitty's neck.

"Katya," said Bitty. "I have to go practice for the Gala."

"Hmph," said Jack, pulling Bitty closer against him. "I thought the Gala was just for fun."

"Doesn't mean I get to skip practice," said Bitty. He turned over in the bed and faced Jack, whose hair was both plastered against the side of his head and sticking straight up in the air. Bitty laughed and attempted to fix it, but the hair was incredibly stubborn.

"You might have to put on a hat," said Bitty. "I don't think there's any saving that."

"When do you have to leave?" Jack asked.

"Ten minutes."

"Mmm, just skip it and stay with me," said Jack. He buried his face in Bitty's neck and Bitty recoiled at Jack's ticklish touch, but slowly relaxed and extended his neck so Jack could plant a kiss there.

“Are you going to skip your semifinal and stay with me?" Bitty asked.

"Yes," whispered Jack.

"Yeah, right, Mr. Zimmermann. The day you skip hockey is the day I retire from figure skating." Jack continued to kiss his neck and Bitty felt a tight suction just under his earlobe. "Stop it! I can't go on national television with a hickey!"

"Yes you can," said Jack, "and apart from the two of us no one will know it's from me." Bitty giggled as Jack sucked on his neck again, but his phone buzzed a reminder and Bitty pushed him away. "How long are you going to practice for?"

"I don't know. This is just me and Katya – the official practice is later this afternoon."

"Can I come back after my game?"

"Yes," said Bitty. "You might want to bring a toothbrush with you."

"You don't like my breath?" Jack teased and kissed Bitty directly on the mouth. Bitty crinkled his nose but kissed Jack back, deep and long, before he finally let go and got out of the bed.

"Come on, get dressed. She's got a key and while she wouldn’t be surprised if she walked in on us, that’s still a conversation I’d like to avoid."

Jack put his clothes back on while Bitty changed into his practice outfit – tight black leggings, the same kind Jack wore under his shorts when he ran in winter, and an oversized long sleeved shirt with USA written across the front. Bitty put on a thick pair of socks and his sneakers over them, but grabbed his bag with his skates before he left the room, Jack close behind.

"I'll text you when practice is over," said Bitty. "I think your game might end first."

"Okay," said Jack. "I – I wish you could be there. It makes it a little bit easier. Knowing you're watching." Bitty frowned.

"Even if I didn't have practice that would be mighty suspicious of me, cheering for Team Canada when you're playing my home country."

"True," said Jack, "but you know more people on the team than just me. You'd be supporting more than just me."

"Still," said Bitty with a shrug. "It's probably better this way."

"Yeah, probably," said Jack. "I should go." Jack put on his Falconers baseball cap before he leaned forward and kissed Bitty, who sighed and leaned in for more, but just at that moment the front door opened. They jumped apart and looked to the door; Bitty blushed bright red while Jack watched two women walked in – Katya held the door and looked angrily at the two of them but Suzanne smiled at Jack.

"Oh hi!" she said brightly. "You're Jack, right?"

"Yes," said Jack, painfully aware that he hadn't brushed his teeth and was wearing yesterday's underwear. "You're Mrs. Bittle, right? Nice to meet you." Jack politely extended a hand, which Suzanne gratefully took. She was blushing just as brightly as Bitty.

"Suzanne, please," she said. "It's so nice to meet you. Dicky's told me a lot about you." Jack looked back at Bitty with his eyebrow cocked at the nickname, but Bitty buried his face in his shirt and ignored everyone in the room. "I have to say, and I know you probably hear this all the time, but I was a young woman when your daddy won the Cup the first time. I can't tell you how big a fan I am of his."

"Mama," said Bitty, without removing his face from his shirt, "Jack doesn't want to hear about how much you love his dad."

"No, it's fine," said Jack, turning on his best smile. "I'll be sure to tell him. He doesn't get the opportunity to meet quite as many fans these days. He'll get a kick out of it."

"Oh, bless your heart, dear," said Suzanne. "You have a big game today, don't you? You're playing us today."

"Yes I am," said Jack, "and I hope our introduction makes you at least a tiny bit conflicted about who to cheer for."

"A tiny bit," said Suzanne with a bright laugh.

"Bitty, we need to go," said Katya.

"I know, I know," said Bitty. He hoisted his bag over his shoulder. "Jack's got to get to the arena too. Let's all just get out of here and pretend like this didn't actually happen."

"Are you going to walk over to the park with us, Jack?" Suzanne asked.

"No, I need to stop and pick up my team first, but perhaps another day."

"You should come to the Gala tomorrow! Unless you have a game. Do you play two games in a row?"

"Depends on how we do today," said Jack. "If we win, I'll definitely be sure to come."

"Great! You can sit with Katya and me."

"Sounds great," said Jack and Bitty groaned. Katya reminded them of the time again and the four of them headed down the stairs then parted ways.

"He seems like a lovely boy," said Suzanne once Jack had entered Building D. Bitty didn't respond as he stuffed his hands into the pockets of his jacket. "I never told you this, Dicky, hun, but your Aunt Connie and I used to collect Bob Zimmerman's trading cards. I swear Connie had every single one of them."

"Oh, gross," said Bitty as he thought about what he'd done to Bob Zimmermann’s son just a few hours before.

"Honey, it's not gross when he's a big hockey star. Everyone felt that way. I'm sure there are plenty of ladies out there who feel the same way about Jack," said Suzanne, and she leaned in close to Bitty, "and maybe a few boys too."

"Ugh, MOTHER!" Bitty yelled. "If you keep this up you are NOT allowed to watch me practice."

"Oh, like you could keep me away," said Suzanne and she linked her arm into Bitty's. Bitty sighed and led her to the shuttle stop.

 

***

 

Jack entered the apartment at eight o'clock to find the entire occupancy of room 7B in the living room, including Kent, who usually avoided the rest of the team like a bad odor in a locker room. All four of them turned around and began clapping, which caused Jack to flush red in his cheeks even before he closed the apartment door.

"Where you been, Cap?" Holster asked, grinning so broadly Jack could see every single one of his overlarge teeth.

"None of your damn business, Holster," said Jack. "Why are you all playing video games? We have a semifinal to win and we're due at Bolshoy in twenty minutes."

"Then you best get your ass in the shower," said Shitty. "I can smell the sex from here."

Jack ignored every single one of them as he crossed the apartment to the bathroom, but before he could close the door on them and their catcalls, Kent slipped inside under the guise of needing his toothbrush. He didn't need his toothbrush. Kent was as transparent as the ice.

"How's your baker, Cap?" Kent quietly asked.

"Shut it, Kent," said Jack, "and get the fuck out."

"He's good for you," said Kent.

"I don't need your blessing."

"Didn't say you did. I'm just saying – it looks good on you. Happiness."

"Get out, Kent."

"Whatever you say, Cap," said Kent. He stuck his toothbrush in his mouth and exited the bathroom. Jack closed the door behind him and looked in the mirror. Despite his long-lingering bad blood with Kent Parson, the man was right. Jack looked happy.

He took off his baseball cap, turned on the shower, and thought of Bitty's embarrassment that morning of being caught by his mother and his coach. Jack realized as he began peeling off his clothes that he didn't feel embarrassed at all.

 

***

 

"Knees, Bitty, knees!" Katya yelled across the ice when Bitty landed another triple lutz. He was still toying around the idea of actually including it in his exhibition skate; the commentators had always been right that this was his best jump and by proxy his easiest, and he couldn't go an entire program without something to keep it interesting. There was only so much ridiculous dancing and twirls before people got bored.

Bitty looked over at Katya and frowned; his knees had been a problem since his first practice in Sochi, but he landed the lutz with no issues.

"What?" Bitty called.

"Work on your knees! You're not focused!"

"It's the exhibition, Katya. It's not like they're grading me on execution here."

"Worlds is just around the corner and you can't afford to lose points when you've had no problem with it in the past!"

"What do you mean I can't afford to lose points?"

"Come here, Bitty, I am not going to scream at you from across the rink," shouted Katya with considerably more anger than Bitty was accustomed to. Katya had never been an easy coach, nor did she ever promise to be, but she obviously cared about Bitty's success and was invested in him as an athlete. So when Bitty skated over to the boards and saw the disdain on her face, he was confused.

"Okay, what did I do wrong?" Bitty asked. "I know my knees haven't been great here but that landing was perfect –"

"It was not perfect. None of your jumps have been perfect since you've been here and it's because you are _not focused_ on your skating."

"What do you mean? Did I not just win a silver medal a week ago?"

"You could have won gold if you had your mind in the right place!"

When he realized what she meant, Bitty tightened his hands into fists below the boards so Katya wouldn't see them. "Is this about Jack?" Bitty asked.

"I told you he is not good for you."

"Do you think that I purposefully put a boy in front of this competition? Do you honestly think that I gave anything less than a hundred percent when I was out here? Jack had nothing to do with this, Katya, and just because you don't like that I have a social life –"

"He is twenty-five years old and a professional athlete. What could his possible interest be in you, a teenager? He will just forget about you when this is over –"

"How do you even know that? You haven't even met him! You didn't even say a word to him this morning!"

"I did not want to embarrass you in front of your mother."

"Well she's right there in the stands, Katya," said Bitty, gesturing to his mother who sat several rows back by herself, trying to appear as if she couldn't hear them. "Say what you have to say!"

"Tell me you did not have sex with him."

"What does it matter?" Bitty yelled.

"Lower your voice when you talk to me, child!"

"I'm nineteen years old, Katya! I am not your Itty Bitty! I am in college and I like boys and it is absolutely none of your business what I choose to do with them!"

"Eric!" Katya scolded.

"So what does this have to do with anything we're trying to accomplish here today? I know I have to work on my knees. I'm working on my knees. If you were paying attention, you would have seen that I am working on my knees. Now I'm going to go back out there and do it again and again and again because that's what the people want to see."

Bitty turned away when Katya spoke again.

"I am just worried, Eric. He is a private person; people do not know about his… his preferences. What happens here will just stay here, and you've already become too attached." Bitty glanced back at her, saw the concern on her face, and instead headed toward the center of the ice. Once he had gained enough speed he jammed his right toe pick into the ice, vaulted into the air from the back outside edge of his left foot, spun around three times, and landed perfectly on his right foot.

"Better," called Katya.

If his mother had not been directly behind Katya, Bitty would have landed with both middle fingers in the air.

 

***

 

Jack rolled his neck in a complete circle, hearing the crunch as his head turned to the left, and then straightened his back and shoulders before he opened his eyes. A lot of their games so far had been well attended, but this was the first time he heard the words "sold out," and there was no confusion why. The United States and Canadian hockey teams comprised the fifty best NHL players from across the continent, and Jack knew he was about to face a tough opponent.

Kent stood next to him, shifting his weight back and forth on his skates. Jack looked over and Kent was chewing on his mouth guard. "You nervous, Parse? Doesn't seem like you," teased Jack. Kent looked over and lifted his nose in contempt but didn't reply otherwise. "Is this how you get now? Are you just always this nervous?"

"Shut it, Zimms," said Kent and Jack chuckled.

"Okay, Parse."

"Hey, Parse," said Shitty, "your teammate's on this starting line, right? That Troy guy or whoever he is?" Kent looked over at Shitty and bit down again on his mouth guard but didn't reply before he looked back out to the tunnel. There wasn't time to inquire further before Team Canada was announced and they all skated out onto the ice to thunderous applause.

Jack kept an eye on Kent while they circled laps around the US team during warm up. Most of Team Canada also had teammates on Team USA and were either chatting with them or exchanging light-hearted smack talk. Shitty had found his teammate from the Habs, Max Pacioretty, and was ribbing him loudly about it: "Retty, brah, you're on the Montreal Canadiens. The _Canadiens_. Why the fuck are you going against everything that is good and holy in the world and playing for America?"

"Dude," said Retty, "I was born in the US. You were born in the US! Why are you going against everything good and holy and playing for the Canadians?"

"Because I play for the Canadiens, dick!" yelled Shitty, earning an eye roll and a jab to the ribs before Shitty put both his arms around Retty and hugged him close. "I just miss you, man!"

None of the Falconers had made it to Team USA either, which was disappointing but understandable. They were still a fairly new team and attracting top talent was difficult, however there were several young players that could make it to Korea in 2018 if they didn't trade teams. Very few players from any recent expansion team made it to the roster, and the Aces were the only expansion team that had players on both sides. Jack skated over to the bench to observe the interactions – they were all playful and friendly now, but once the game started it would get ugly, and Jack wanted to keep an eye out for potential threats.

His eyes followed Kent, circling the net and occasionally taking shots, but never once looking at his Aces teammate, Jeff Troy, another forward who usually played on Kent's line. Troy never looked at Kent either, and, as Jack continued to watch, their distance said more than anything that they would have said to each other.

When the buzzer sounded Jack skated out to the center line with Kent on his left and Shitty on his right, ready for the first faceoff. He looked over to his left; Kent stood across from Troy but pointedly did not look at him, although they would be vying for the puck if Jack won the faceoff. Jack bent over, ready for the game to begin and, just before the puck dropped, noticed Troy look at Kent for the first time. The expression was familiar – soft, secretive, and romantic.

Jack lost the faceoff.

 

***

 

After lunch with Suzanne and Katya, Bitty headed back to the Iceberg Skating Palace for the exhibition rehearsal. He was part of two group numbers, both already choreographed and already cheesy, but there was no pressure to do particularly well. As with most exhibitions, there was an emphasis on having a good time rather than perfect execution, and Bitty was grateful for the opportunity to skate for the sake of skating.

However, when Bitty entered the arena with his equipment bag, the first thing he noticed was the media circus set up just off the ice. Several cameras were framing shots of their reporters and the ice behind them, and a few of the more popular skaters from the last two weeks were already picked out of the crowd for interviews. Bitty knew if he was seen he'd be asked to interview by every media team there, but he also knew there was no hope of getting to the ice unseen.

"Eric!" he heard as soon as he put his bag on a chair. He groaned and closed his eyes for a moment before he turned around. He recognized Sandra Bezic from NBC who was frantically waving him over. Katya was not present for this rehearsal so Bitty had no one to hide behind and no excuses to make. He put on a smile and headed for the camera. "I'm so glad we got to speak to you! Do you mind if we take a few minutes?"

"No problem," said Bitty. "Always happy to speak to the home crowd."

"Eric, you're walking away from this Olympics with a bronze medal in the team event and silver in the individual event. Did you expect these results when you came to Sochi two weeks ago?"

"Absolutely not," said Bitty in his perfectly canned media voice, "I did really well at Nationals a few weeks ago –"

"Yes, where you took gold –"

"– but last year at Worlds I came in fourth. I knew I was close, I knew I had a shot, but so much has changed from last March. Everyone's programs are faster, higher, stronger. I knew I had to step it up myself to even be in contention."

"Let's talk about that disappointing fourth place finish at Worlds in Canada last year," said Sandra and Bitty nodded, keeping his smile on his lips, but he could feel the anger building inside of him as yet another person mentioned how disappointing it was to place fourth in the world. "How did that feel, coming out of that event with Yuzuru Hanyu edging you off the podium?"

"It was tough," said Bitty, nodding and smiling again, "it was definitely tough. He's a fantastic skater and he's done so much – done so much here as well too! But I knew I had a stronger program in me and it turns out that I do."

"So you're off to the World Championship in Hanyu's home country next. Do you think you have what it takes to take home gold?"

"We'll see," said Bitty, shrugging his shoulders. "I don't want to think too far ahead about that. I'm just looking forward to tomorrow."

"What we can expect from you tomorrow?"

"All I can guarantee is a lot of fun! Thank you," said Bitty, ending his own interview. He turned to walk away and found himself in front of another camera and smiled, prepared to answer the same questions again.

 

***

 

Jack let out one long, deep breath, his eyes on the goal, before he lowered his stick rapidly to the ice, thrust the puck forward, and watched as it sailed directly past the goalie and into the net. The entire line was upon him in moments, the horn blaring, the lights flashing, and half the audience screaming in excitement.

It was the only goal of the game.

 

***

 

Jack looked at his phone. Bitty hadn't texted back, which meant he was still in practice. Jack looked longingly over at the Iceberg Skating Palace from across the park, knowing Bitty was in there. The team was still in the locker room, celebrating their win; it was only a matter of one more game, sixty more minutes of play, to know if they were going to receive the gold or silver medal. Jack was going to win either a gold or silver medal. Jack had been given the first star that night (Chowder got the second) for the only goal of the game, and all he wanted to do was find Bitty and hand him the puck that went in the net. Instead he walked back to the Village alone with his hands in his pockets.

The road back to the Village was quiet. Although not yet evening, the sun had already set, and Jack walked on the sidewalk alongside the road, in and out of the yellow circles of light from the streetlamps. Most of the tourists were gone by now, with only two days left in the Games before the Closing Ceremony, and many of the athletes had left as well. Jack had seen a decline in the amount of people in the cafeteria over the last few days and was grateful for it. He wasn't the most recognizable player in the league but he had a legendary father and was the captain of a team that would more than likely take gold, so the amount of autographs he had to sign when in the cafeteria and in the park and at the gym were plentiful. It was nice to just walk alone and smell the Black Sea alongside him as he headed back home, or at least the home he had come to know since being in Sochi.

Jack climbed the seven flights of stairs in Building D rather than take the elevator, his legs straining by the time he reached the final landing, exhausted from the climb and the game. He walked over to 7B and unlocked the door to find a dark apartment. He flicked on the light by the door and scrambling to get away from each other on the couch were Jeff Troy and Kent Parson. Jack immediately shut the door behind him.

"What the fuck, Kent, you're in the living room," said Jack. "Anyone could have walked in."

"Everyone was going out to celebrate," said Kent. "You said you were going."

"Yeah, I changed my mind," said Jack. "As could have anyone. You know better."

"Maybe I don't want to know better," said Kent. "Maybe I want people to know."

"Does Jeff want people to know? Troy, do you want people to know?"

Jack looked at Troy for the first time and noticed how he was bright red from his brown hair all the way down into the collar of his unbuttoned dress shirt. He was covering his face with one hand, the other clutching at his shirt. Jack let out a sigh.

"Troy, it's okay. I'm not going to say anything," said Jack. Troy didn't remove his hand from his face. His chest was rising in small, convulsive movements as if he were trying not to hyperventilate. "Kent, did you tell him? About us?" Kent shook his head. Jack wanted to walk over and calm Troy down, look him in the eyes and tell him there was nothing wrong about this, but Jack had never met the man outside of the rink and was afraid approaching him would just cause a scene. Troy finally dropped his hand and looked between Kent and Jack; Jack could see his eyes were red and shining with tears.

"What do you mean?" Troy asked. "What about you?"

"You can't figure it out, J?" Kent asked, nodding to Jack. "There were rumors upon rumors."

"Yeah, but just rumors."

Jack shook his head. "No," said Jack. "Not just rumors."

Jack felt his phone buzz several times in his pocket and knew it was Bitty. He pulled out his phone and looked at it:

 

      **Bitty**  
     YOU ARE SO WINNING GOLD  
  
      **Bitty**  
     JACK ZIMMERMANN, CAPTAIN OF UNSTOPPABLE TEAM CANADA  
  
      **Bitty**  
     I'm on my way back now if you want to meet me ;)

 

Jack looked back up at Kent, who had his hand on Troy's knee. "Listen," said Jack. "I'm going to get my stuff and go to Bitty's. Just… maybe move it to the bedroom, eh?"

Kent stood up and pulled Troy up with him. "Don't get caught," said Kent.

"Same to you," replied Jack. "Bye Troy."

"Bye Jack," said Troy and he looked at Kent, who took his hand and led him into his bedroom. Jack took everything from the bathroom first, since it was closest to Kent's room, and then proceeded to pack a bag in his bedroom. As he began stuffing clothes into the bag, he stopped and looked back in the direction of Kent's room. Maybe it would just be easier if he were caught, or if Kent and Troy were caught. At least that way the hiding would be over.

 


	12. Chapter Eleven

**BITTY x JACK**

 

Jack awoke in Bitty's bedroom the next morning alone. He blinked several times and looked at the clock; it was only seven. Practice wasn't for another four hours to accommodate the boys who definitely went out and got wasted the night before, and Bitty didn't need to be at his arena until two o'clock. There was no reason to be awake nor was there reason for Bitty to be away from Jack when the Closing Ceremony was just one day away.

The apartment had been empty since the first time Jack entered it, but after what happened the previous day with Katya and Suzanne just barging in, he did not feel comfortable leaving the bedroom without clothes on. He pulled clothes out of his bag and began to get dressed. Bitty had smiled at him when he showed up at the door with his duffel bag, the bright, radiant smile that Jack wanted Bitty to keep on his face for the rest of his life, so Jack could never stop looking at it. Bitty looked at the bag and said "Moving in?" and when Jack replied "Yes," Bitty pulled him down for a kiss and the bag stayed next to the door until bedtime.

The bedroom door was only slightly ajar but when Jack approached it he could hear that Bitty was in the kitchen. Jack opened the door and stepped out into the living room to see Bitty furiously kneading dough, the counter littered with supplies from Ransom's grocery trip that resulted in everything Bitty could need to make pie. Bitty was entirely focused on what he was doing, headphones in, head down. When Jack approached he could hear some kind of obnoxious pop music that sounded entirely too loud for headphones, and entirely too loud for seven o'clock in the morning.

Two pies were already cooling on the counter; a timer was counting down on the range's backsplash for a third, and Bitty had enough dough in his hands to make at least two more. They really didn't have any plans before Jack had to leave for practice, but this was not how Jack envisioned they would spend their day.

Jack sat down at the counter and the motion caught Bitty's attention. He jumped, startled at Jack's presence, and took one of the earbuds out; Jack could hear the music louder now and it sounded like a woman rapping to a happy poppy beat, which was the opposite of the emotion Jack read on Bitty's face.

"Jack! Why are you awake?"

"It's seven o'clock," said Jack. "I pretty much always wake up around now."

"Oh," said Bitty. "Already?"

Jack looked around at the mess on the counter; in addition to the ball of dough there were two mixing bowls of filling and an open bag of flour that was mostly spread on the counter but also had made its way onto Bitty's hands, sleeves, shirt, and cheeks.

"How long have you been baking?"

"Since four," said Bitty.

"Why have you been awake since four?"

"I couldn't sleep," said Bitty. "I woke up and I just knew that was it. I was awake. You looked so peaceful, though; I didn't want to bother you so I came out here and started on the pies. I had leftover blackberries from the pie I made for Ransom the other day and all of these apples still, so I figured I should use them up. I don't think they're going to let me travel home with them."

"No, probably not," said Jack, "but you didn't have to turn them into pie."

"Well there was butter and milk and eggs and everything too. Then I just figured you boys probably need some serious pie to celebrate your win yesterday and who knows if there will be time to celebrate tomorrow after you win again." Bitty sneaked a smile at Jack and then returned to the dough in front of him which sectioned off. Most of it he returned to the refrigerator and the rest he began to roll out on the counter.

"You seem very confident that we're going to win," said Jack.

"Well you haven't lost yet."

"Yes," said Jack, "but that doesn't mean anything."

"I think you're going to win," said Bitty. "You're playing Sweden. Team Canada, featuring the countrymen of those who invented hockey, versus Sweden, the countrymen of those who invented meatballs? I think you've got this in the bag."

"Sweden's great. A lot of NHL players are from Sweden."

"I'm just saying, hun," said Bitty. He cut off the excess dough before rolling it onto his pin and then neatly releasing it into the pie tin. "I'm making five pies, one for each person in your line."

"There's six of us if you include Chowder."

"I'm including Chowder," said Bitty.

"Then who are you not including?" Jack asked, although he already knew the answer to the question.

"Parse has made it very clear he does not want any of my pie," said Bitty, "so he does not get one. If you want to be kind and share it with him, that is your prerogative."

"Parse knows," said Jack suddenly. "About us." Bitty looked up from his mixing bowl full of apples and didn't move until Jack spoke further. "It's fine. He's not going to say anything. It's just – he's the kind of person who knows what I'm thinking before I'm thinking it. He's always been that way. He could tell right away that I wanted to be with you. He was the one who told me to go for it."

"Were you not going to?" Bitty asked casually as he began to carefully scoop apples into the pie crust. "Go for it, I mean?"

"I don't think I would have been able to leave here without trying something," said Jack, "but it might not have happened until the last minute if it weren't for him."

"So you're saying I should bake him a pie," said Bitty.

"I'm not saying anything about pie."

"Yes you are. You're saying I should make that boy a thank you pie for nudging you along. I hear you loud and clear, Jack Zimmermann." Bitty surveyed the ingredients on the counter. "I'm going to need more dough."

Jack watched as Bitty finished filling the apple pie and began to roll another section of dough for the top crust. Now that all the other occupants of the apartment left town, Bitty had turned up the heat to what Jack assumed was appropriate weather in Georgia, but Jack was perfectly fine sitting in the warmth if it meant Bitty would walk around with a tank top on. As he rolled out the dough over and over, frequently changing direction or turning the crust on the floured surface, Jack could see the muscles in Bitty's shoulders flexing. Jack stared until Bitty collected the crust onto his rolling pin and layered it over the filling of his apple pie.

"What do I have to do to get you to stop making pie and come back to bed with me?" Jack asked. Bitty blushed before he looked up at Jack from underneath his eyelashes and Jack felt a wave of warmth slide down his throat.

"Nothing short of a miracle, honey," said Bitty. He cinched the ends of his crust just as the timer sounded from the range. Jack seized his opportunity; Bitty turned to the oven to remove pie number three and Jack grabbed the recently-assembled pie from the counter and held it above his head. After removing the baked pie from the oven, Bitty turned to pick up pie number four and instead looked at Jack, his eyes wide.

"Jack! Give me that pie!"

"No," said Jack.

"Jack!" Bitty closed the oven door, circled the counter, and reached for the pie. Jack quickly stood up and Bitty put both of his hands on his hips, looking entirely too beautiful for someone that incensed. "Jack Zimmermann, that pie is for your teammates."

"You've made three already. That's plenty. Besides," said Jack, his eyes softening as he looked over Bitty's warm face, "we only have two more days before we have to go home. I don't want to spend that time in the kitchen."

Bitty bit his lip and Jack recognized the familiar sheen of emotion in his eyes as they glazed over with unexpected tears. Bitty nodded, just briefly, before he looked up at the pie that Jack still held over his head. "Okay," said Bitty, "but at least let me put it in the oven. I won't make any more."

"How long does it have to go for?"

"Forty minutes," said Bitty and then a sneaky grin crossed his lips. "Is that enough time for you, Mr. Zimmermann?"

"I think I can manage forty minutes," said Jack. He handed Bitty the pie, "but no more. Just this one." Bitty nodded. Jack followed him back to the over and patiently waited for Bitty to place it inside and set his timer before Jack grabbed him around the waist and threw Bitty over his shoulder.

 

***

 

Shitty was the only one in the living room when Jack and Bitty entered, each carrying two pies. Shitty sat on the couch with mostly no clothing. He glanced over his shoulder, noticed the two of them at the door, and then noticed the pie. He immediately dropped his controller and vaulted over the back of the couch, abandoning his racecar in the middle of a track.

"Is that pie?" he asked.

"No, Shits, they're four Frisbees with crust on them," said Jack.

"Oh, man," said Shitty. "Oh, man, I want a whole one to myself. Bitty, you should have made one for each of us." Bitty shot a look over his shoulder at Jack before he set the pie down on the counter. "Well, it's actually probably for the best. I checked on Ransom and Holster earlier and they are not in the right state to be eating ANYTHING right now, so you know I don't want to waste pie that will never be fully digested."

"Is Parse up yet?" Jack asked.

"I didn't check," said Shitty. "He's not allowed to have any pie."

"He's part of our team, Shits. He can have pie."

"That's debatable," said Shitty. "I'm not sure I've even seen him outside the rink. I don't think I've seen you, either, Jack. What's the deal? I thought you liked me."

"Yeah, well," said Jack and he didn't respond before he turned to Bitty. "You should knock on Parse's door and see if he wants pie."

"Me?" Bitty squeaked.

"Yes, you. You made it." Jack handed Bitty one of the pies and a fork. Bitty stared at it for a moment before he looked over at Kent's door. With a gentle nudge from Jack, Bitty headed in that direction and hesitated again before he knocked. There was no answer. Bitty turned back to look at Jack, who motioned for him to try again. Bitty knocked again, more insistently.

The door opened and a grumpy looking Kent Parson appeared on the other side. Bitty stared, nervous, and Kent looked down at the pie in his hands. "Um," said Bitty and Kent's frown turned into his Kent Parson signature smirk. Kent crossed his arms, leaned against the doorway, and waited. "I made you pie. It's apple. Jack said you like apple pie."

"There's nothing more American than apple pie," said Kent.

"So I want you to have it. You don't even have to eat it if you don't want it but I made it for you specifically because we haven't spoken yet but Jack –" Bitty paused. "Everyone else has had a lot of pie and I don't want you to be left out so please take it."

Kent chuckled.

"Okay, kid."

"Here." Bitty handed over the pie and the fork, which Kent took.

"Do I at least get a plate or do I have to eat the whole thing out of the tin?" Bitty's eyebrows raised.

"Do you want a plate? I can get you a plate." Bitty ran over to the kitchen where Jack handed him a plate, and then Bitty returned to Kent's room. Kent took the plate.

"What about a napkin?" Kent asked. Bitty turned again but Kent reached out and grabbed hold of his shoulder, laughing. "No, no, Bitty, I'm kidding. I'm kidding. Thank you."

"Oh," said Bitty, turning bright red. "You're welcome."

"No seriously," said Kent and he glanced over Bitty's shoulder at Jack. "Thanks." Bitty nodded and Kent retreated to his room again, shutting the door. Bitty returned to the kitchen where Jack and Shitty had already eaten half of one of the berry pies.

"Don't eat all of it," Bitty said, snatching the remaining pie away from them, "Ransom and Holster may not want any right now but they'll definitely want some later, and we still have to give one to Chowder and Farmer."

"Yeah," said Shitty, "this one is ours, this one is for R and H, and this one can be for Chowder and Farmer. Done." Shitty took the pie out of Bitty's hands and stuck a fork into it, causing Bitty to look at Jack again. Shitty glanced up as he did. "So," continued Shitty, "Bits. How long did all of this pie take to make?"

"Not that long," said Bitty. "I couldn't really sleep so I made them this morning."

"Did Jack help?"

"Ha," said Bitty with an indignant laugh. "That's funny, Shitty."

Shitty carefully looked up at Bitty and Bitty's heart fell into his stomach. Bitty looked at Jack, who was slowly retreating toward the bedroom.

"But Jack was there this morning?" Shitty continued. "When you couldn't sleep?"

"Shitty…" said Bitty carefully. "I don't think that's a question you want to ask." Shitty looked over at Jack, who froze, halfway between the kitchen and the bedroom.

"Brah, calm down," said Shitty. "You know I'm not like that." Jack looked at Bitty and then looked at Shitty again, but didn't return to the kitchen. "Listen, I'm an asshole. I am the typical asshole hypocrite. You were trying to tell me that you weren't into ladies and I just assumed –"

"No," said Jack, shaking his head, "I like women too."

"And there I go again!" said Shitty, shaking his head as if he couldn't even believe himself. "And people say bi erasure isn't a thing. Listen, Cap, I don't care. You know I don't care. I won't say anything, though, because I know it's not mine to discuss. But, I do have to warn you – it's pretty obvious."

"Is it?" Bitty asked. "How?"

"You're out all night and then you come strolling in here with Bitty and four pies? Yeah, obvious." Shitty crammed another forkful of pie into his mouth and then, while he was chewing, looked up. "Yo, does Parse know?"

"Yes," said Jack.

Shitty raised his eyebrows.

"I am not even touching that one," said Shitty and swallowed his pie.

 

***

 

Jack kept practice very light, wanting the team to rest as much as possible before their gold medal match against Sweden the next morning, which, when Jack said it, couldn't believe that the words were coming out of his mouth. The words had a polarizing effect on the team depending on who was part of the 2010 Vancouver team. Those who'd played on that team fist-bumped or nudged each other, as if this was an expected result; those who were new to the 2014 Olympics stared back at Jack in disbelief.

Bitty was already on his way to the Skating Palace for warm-ups and dress rehearsal before the Gala Exhibition that evening when Jack left the Bolshoy Ice Dome, but Bitty had texted Jack his mother's phone number in case Jack wanted to sit with her. Jack actually did want to sit with her, but he only got as far as asking her where they should meet when the rest of the team realized what was going on.

"Oh, Cap, are you going to the figure skating thing tonight?" Ransom asked when Jack hung up the phone.

"Oh, yeah," said Jack.

"We want to go!" Holster said, louder than necessary. "Yo, Shits, Lards, do you guys want to go to Bitty's thing tonight?"

"Yes I do," said Shitty. Shitty looked at Lardo who shrugged her small shoulders and agreed as well. Jack quickly took out his phone again and sent a text to Bitty's mother:

 

      **Jack**  
     The starting line of Team Canada may or may not be accompanying me.  
  
      **Suzanne**  
     Oh wonderful! Dicky will be so happy to see all of you!  
  


 

That evening Jack, Shitty, Lardo, Ransom, Holster, Chowder, and Farmer met Suzanne Bittle outside the Iceberg Skating Palace. Ransom had purchased an air horn from a street vendor (Jack planned to confiscate it before Bitty's performance), and Holster, conflicted by his dual citizenship, wore both his Team Canada zip-up jacket and a Team USA toque, which Jack was certain belonged to a female who tried to quietly escape the apartment that morning.

"Holst, you know this isn't actually a competition tonight, right?" Shitty asked. "You don't have to root for anyone."

"I'm showing my support, Shits!"

"I'm sorry, what was your name?" Suzanne asked Shitty.

"We call him Shitty," said Holster.

"We don't actually know his first name," said Ransom.

"Guys, it's on the roster. Mrs. Bittle, my name is –"

"Can we go in now, please?" asked Jack.

The eight of them entered the arena and sat down about ten rows up from the center of the ice, a cluster of red next to Suzanne, who wore a blue USA coat that more than likely belonged to Bitty. Jack sat next to Suzanne with Shitty on his other side and Lardo on Shitty's other side, Ransom, Holster, Chowder, and Farmer in the row in the front of them.

"So if this isn't a competition what's supposed to happen?" Holster asked after he and Ransom turned around to face Jack and Suzanne.

"This is the Gala Exhibition," said Suzanne. "It's kind of a way for the skaters to say goodbye to the competition and thank everyone for coming. There's usually an opening and a closing number with the whole group and a few of the skaters who received medals or were popular with the fans will do a solo performance."

"Oh," said Holster. "So is Bitty performing?"

"Yes," said Suzanne. "They're usually not as serious as competition, so it won't be as technical or as eventful as his other programs but it will be…interesting…"

"What's the song?" Ransom asked.

Suzanne flushed and pressed her lips together into a tight line for a moment before she replied. "It's a pop song," she said. "Usually you can't have lyrics but tonight you can."

The lights dimmed in the arena and Ransom lifted his air horn, but Jack quickly grabbed it before Ransom could set it off. "Aww," said Ransom but allowed Jack to hide the air horn under his seat. Suzanne giggled beside him.

"Are they always this enthusiastic?" she asked Jack.

"Yes," he replied.

Jack wished he could say the same about the opening program. Ransom, deprived of his air horn, let out an excited "WOO" when Bitty appeared on the ice for the first time. He quickly looked confused when Bitty and the rest of the skaters of the Olympic program began a choreographed dance involving a lot of wide turns, ripple dance effects, and paired skating where Bitty had to dance with a woman as tall as he was.

Halfway through the opening number Shitty leaned over to Jack and whispered, "Please tell me this is not what the whole night is going to be like." Jack didn't say anything because something told him, as Bitty entered a series of spins with four other men, most of them just slightly out of sync with each other, that this was exactly how the Gala would play out.

The program picked up with the individual skaters, though. Suzanne leaned over when a young woman from Russia began a slow, somber skate, "She's fantastic. Only fifteen. Come 2018 she is going to take home gold in the women's event for sure." Jack was inclined to agree as she performed jump after jump and began to spin faster than anyone else that Jack had seen, including Bitty. Ransom and Holster openly cringed when she pulled her leg all the way up against her head and Shitty asked Chowder if he could do that, to which Chowder replied, "I don't know! I've never tried." He lifted his leg but Farmer quickly put her hand on it to stop him. Chowder frowned.

They sat through three more performances, including a pair of skaters where a woman stood on top of her partner's thigh and Shitty loudly asked why she didn't cut off his leg, before the announcer read "Eric Bittle representing the United States of America, Bronze Medalist in the Team Performance, Silver Medalist in the Men's Individual Performance." Ransom and Holster stood and shouted. Jack immediately pulled them back into their seats but Bitty had seen them and waved in their direction when he bowed to their side of the arena.

"Jack, he saw us!" said Chowder over his shoulder after Bitty turned around and waved. Jack nodded.

"Yes he did," said Jack with a chuckle. He looked over at Suzanne, who had her head in her left hand to cover her face and was purposefully avoiding looking at Jack. Jack looked back to the ice, confused, and waited for Bitty to get into position. While some of the other performances had been light-hearted and a few of them were set to music with lyrics, everything still looked like a typical competition performance. Bitty was the first one to come out onto the ice without the typical skating costume, wearing a white T-shirt and what looked like jeans, but Jack wondered if they actually were jeans.

The song began and Suzanne turned further away; Jack didn't recognize the woman's voice but apparently Ransom and Holster did, because they immediately threw their hands up in the air and yelled, "Yes! Get it, Bits!"

After ten seconds of lyrics Jack realized why Suzanne had turned away. The routine was cheesy, as all figure skating was, but Bitty's intricate step sequence was paired with a pop-and-lock routine and, to Jack's embarrassment being seated right next to Bitty's mother, an incredibly dirty full body grind when the chorus hit. Jack sank lower in his chair, earning an elbow nudge from Shitty, and purposefully avoided Suzanne in the same way she avoided him, but he couldn't look away from the ice and the way that Bitty moved his ass back and forth in time with the music.

When the chorus transitioned back into verse, Bitty began spinning in time with the music and Jack lowered his hand as Bitty had shifted back into family-friendly skating. After what looked like a perfectly performed jump, Ransom shouted "BITTY!" and turned around. "Dude, I need the air horn."

"I'm not giving you the air horn," said Jack.

"Did you see that jump? That air requires an air horn!"

"No, Rans," said Jack. "Turn around."

The music cut out as the bridge began and Jack looked back to the ice. Bitty was looking directly back at him and Jack leaned forward; it was hard to see Bitty's face clearly, but he looked suddenly conflicted. One arm extended in Jack's direction, he slowed his step sequence to slow, languid spins, using Jack as a focal point, until he began to skate backward and then, as the chorus picked up again, stood in the center of the ice, his eyes downcast, his hands on his hips, not moving.

Jack stared at him and Bitty just stared at the ground a moment before, just as suddenly, he began to move again, taking one quick spin to put him back into the rhythm of the same fluid choreography that made Jack's cheeks feel very warm. He sank back into his chair, his hand over his mouth, and watched as Bitty rolled his body over and over again – as Jack stared, he realized Bitty was very good at it. Then he remembered he sat next to Bitty's mother and he awkwardly shifted in his seat and turned his face away from her again. The song ended, Bitty began to wave, and Ransom jumped over the seat to grab the air horn before Jack realized what was happening.

As the sound of the horn blasted into the air, Bitty straightened from his bow and laughed. Just as suddenly, he caught eyes with Jack and all of the mirth left his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bitty's Gala Exhibition dance is to Super Bass by Nicki Minaj. Most of his routine is lifted directly from [the music video](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4JipHEz53sU), specifically the chorus choreography.
> 
> Also we're getting closer to the end. Honestly, we're at the point that when I edit I usually end up having to read the entire rest of the fic because I can't stop, so hopefully you all feel the same!


	13. Chapter Twelve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so much love to [luckie_dee](http://archiveofourown.org/users/luckie_dee/pseuds/luckie_dee/works) for her beta work on this!
> 
> This is my favorite chapter of the story. Welcome to the final day of the Olympic Games!

**BITTY x JACK**

 

The clock ticked midnight and it was officially the final day of the Winter Olympics. Bitty stood in the living room, staring at the Black Sea through the open window. It was freezing – officially this time – but he had the blanket from Jeremy's bed wrapped tightly around him, letting the breeze off the water lift his hair and sting his cheeks. Despite the blanket he could feel his entire body shaking and he wondered how much longer he could stand there and endure it before he gave up and went to bed, where Jack was already sleeping.

The day didn't feel very final, but there was nothing left for Bitty to do apart from the Closing Ceremony that evening. Nothing left for Bitty to do but pack his suitcase. Nothing left for Bitty to do but say goodbye to Jack.

Bitty exhaled a shaky breath and buried his face in the blanket, feeling tears well in his eyes as he thought about actually having to say the words to Jack. There had been no discussion of plans after Sochi, of spending the weekend or having Bitty attend a Falconers game – even Ransom had invited Bitty to a Bruins game already. Jack had said nothing, done nothing, to give Bitty the idea that this would continue after they left Russia.

The song from his routine was stuck in his head. That was not uncommon; Bitty had been playing it over and over for a week while he rehearsed, listened to it through headphones to mentally prepare when he wasn't on the ice. The song had been stuck in his head for the majority of that time, but it wasn't until he was in the Iceberg Skating Palace, skating it for real, that he realized he had picked the worst possible song.

Jack had brought most of his starting line with him to the Gala, and while Bitty had originally been so happy to see all of them there, sitting next to his mother and cheering way too loudly for a classy figure skating exhibition, the bridge began and it all got very real very fast.  _ I need you in my life for me to stay _ , Bitty heard in his head for the hundredth time since he left the bed and moved to the living room,  _ No, I know you'll stay. No, don't go away. _

Katya had been right. He was too young. Too young and too inexperienced and too much of an  _ idiot _ to honestly think that Jack Zimmermann, the captain of the Providence Falconers and a multi-million dollar NHL contract holder, really had any reason to be involved with a nineteen year old skater from Georgia who had yet to finish college. What was Bitty even going to do with his life? He was majoring in American Studies and no one does anything with that degree except work behind the counter at the only remaining Blockbuster in the country.

He stood there in the freezing cold and stared at the Black Sea and knew he was an idiot, but it didn't change the fact that he was desperately in love with Jack Zimmermann, Captain of the Providence Falconers and holder of a multi-million dollar NHL contract.

"What are you doing out here?" Jack asked.

Bitty turned around; Jack stood sleepily in the doorway to the bedroom, scratching at his bare stomach. Bitty let his eyes roam over Jack's naked body, bathed in moonlight and considerably more attractive than anything Bitty could have imagined. It didn't help the situation so Bitty turned back to the window. The streetlights in the Village did not properly illuminate the scenery and it felt like looking into nothing.

"I'm just not that tired, I guess," said Bitty.

"You didn't sleep at all last night and now you're not tired? What's wrong?" Bitty heard his footsteps approach and Jack rested a hand on Bitty’s back. "Jesus, you're shaking. Is the window open?" Bitty nodded. "Bitty, what the hell?" Jack sidestepped him and closed the window. Bitty pulled the blanket tighter around himself and looked down at the ground to avoid seeing the muscles in Jack's back flex as he pulled the window down. He could still see Jack's feet, though, and they turned to face him.

"Is this about what happened earlier?"

Bitty looked up. Jack looked down at him with soft eyes and Bitty had to look away again to prevent emotion from reaching his face. "What do you mean?" Bitty asked.

"Something happened earlier. You were fine and then you looked at me and something – something changed."

"That was just my routine, Jack," said Bitty and he turned away. Jack pulled him back by the arm and Bitty looked down at it, at Jack's large hand gripping at him through the mass produced quilt that had been placed on every bed in the building.

"No, it wasn't," said Jack.

"Jack, let go of me," said Bitty. Jack let go of Bitty's arm and Bitty sat down in a chair at the kitchen counter.

"Okay, it's not about the song," Jack conceded, "so what is it about? Don't make me stand here and guess at what you're thinking. I have a game to play in the morning that's kind of important."

"Of course it's important," spat Bitty.

Jack furrowed his brow but kept his distance.

"I'm sorry if I have to remain committed to the sport that brought me here in the first place. I'm sorry that I have to get up and play well and bring home gold for my country like I've been expected to do for months."

"And then what, Jack?" Bitty asked, raising his eyes and looking at Jack from across the room. The streetlight lit Jack from behind like a halo and it was painful to see how it highlighted Jack's best features, including the look of pure concern and affection on his face. "And then what happens? You play your game and you win or you don't win and then we go home and then what happens?"

"What are you talking about? We go home and I finish the season and you prep for Worlds and we live our lives."

Bitty took in a sharp breath as if Jack had checked him into the boards. He clutched at his blanket and buried his mouth into it and breathed and breathed and tried to stop it because this entire conversation was  _ stupid _ and Jack had just proved his naiveté, but he couldn't stop it and he burst into tears beneath the veil of the Russian quilt.

"Bitty," said Jack quietly, headed directly toward him. Bitty wanted to hide under the blanket and away from Jack but there was nothing for it and nowhere to go, so when Jack's arms encircled him he sobbed and felt like he was seven years old.

"What if I miss you?" Bitty cried into his hands. "What am I supposed to do then?"

"If you miss me then just call me," said Jack, "or if I'm home come see me."

"What?" Bitty asked, sitting up. He looked up at Jack's gentle face, now just inches away from his own.

"It's not like we're going to be that far away from each other. You're not going back to Georgia. Right?" Jack looked worried. "You're going to be in Boston, right?"

"Yeah, but…" Bitty wiped at his eyes. "Are you going to want to see me again?"

"What are you talking about? Of course I want to see you again. I'm going to go home to my empty apartment and wish you were there with me," said Jack. "Did you think – oh,  _ crisse _ , Bits, did you think this was going to end when the Games ended?"

"Yes," said Bitty into his blanket.

"Bitty," said Jack, gently shaking his head. Bitty bit his lip as he looked up at Jack, the tears returning to his eyes. Jack pulled him close and Bitty cried into Jack's chest and as he did, Jack carefully kissed his forehead. "Of course we'll see each other again. You can come down to visit me and if I have a break after an away game we can take a long weekend in DC or Chicago or somewhere... You can call me whenever you need to, Bitty."

"I'm sorry," said Bitty as he pulled away from Jack's chest. "I'm just being silly."

"No, I'm sorry." Jack looked over Bitty's face and gently wiped at the tears under his eyes. "Come back to bed, okay?" Bitty nodded. "Let me warm you up." Bitty hopped off the stool and they headed back to the bedroom together. Bitty dropped the blanket from his shoulders and Jack approached him from behind, laying gentle, warm hands on Bitty's cool skin, one on Bitty's arm, one on Bitty's hip. Bitty sighed and let his head fall back against Jack's chest. Jack planted a small kiss on his temple before he moved his hand forward from his hip, dipping inward and gently touching the edge of Bitty's half-hard cock.

"Jack," Bitty breathed. His hips bucked forward, his erection filling under Jack's fingers; Jack wrapped his hand around Bitty and began to tug. "Oh, fuck, Jack."

"What do you want?" Jack whispered into his ear.

Bitty couldn't think while Jack touched him. Jack let go of him and began to gently caress Bitty's stomach, causing Bitty to open his eyes. Bitty turned around and looked up at Jack, who moved his delicate touch to the expanse of Bitty's back. "Can you – Jack, can you make love to me please?" Jack nodded and brought his lips down to Bitty's, kissing him tenderly. Bitty sighed peacefully into Jack's mouth and Jack's lips turned upward into a smile, which caused Bitty to smile in return. "Quit it," said Bitty.

"You quit it," said Jack, his grin expanding. They clacked teeth and Bitty laughed and pulled away.

"Stop, we're supposed to be having a moment here," said Bitty.

"We are."

Jack kissed him again but this time his hands slid down Bitty's back until they were underneath him and then hoisted him up and carried him to the bed. It creaked despite Jack's efforts to be gentle, but both of them ignored it as they continued to quietly kiss each other in the darkness of their bedroom. Bitty let his fingers travel over the solid muscle of Jack's back, taking frequently trips south to the generous curve of his ass, and then back up into his hair until Jack was breathing hard. Jack let go to dip his hand into the glass bowl on the nightstand. The sound of his fingers searching for lube packets among the Sochi branded condoms had become a Pavlovian trigger for Bitty over the past few days and his body arched up against Jack's in his desire for more.

Jack pulled out several packets and set them on the nightstand for easy access, but opened one immediately and smoothed it between his fingers before he reached between Bitty's legs and began to lightly stroke at him. When Bitty let his knees fall open, he never thought he'd be this comfortable being this exposed, but Jack was delicate, intimate, and honest. Jack stared directly into his eyes as he pushed one finger inside, watching Bitty's face for signs of distress.

"You okay?" he asked, his voice a whisper, his concern welcoming. Bitty nodded. "Your skin is still cold everywhere else but you are very warm right here." Bitty giggled, feeling his face flush red. Jack continued to press into him, going slow, and the agony of the wait was quickly winning over Bitty's discomfort of being opened.

"Another," Bitty said. Jack nodded and slid in another finger, causing Bitty to wince a bit. Jack quickly stopped but Bitty shook his head. "No, no, I'm fine. Keep going." Jack resumed, slower than before, sliding his wet fingers in and out of Bitty, twisting on every other stroke. Bitty let out a long shaky breath when Jack touched the tiny bump of nerves inside of him, looking up at the ceiling instead of at Jack, willing himself not to come just from this. Jack started to ask him again if he was all right but Bitty closed his eyes, gripped the sheets tightly, and said, "Just trying not to come. Be careful. I still want you inside me."

"Fuck," Jack whispered and he dropped his head onto Bitty's chest, breathing hard, his fingers moving faster inside of Bitty. He attempted another finger but instead stopped for more lube before he continued the stretch and Bitty focused on the ceiling, quickly losing his patience but knowing from the other times that they'd done this that it was a necessary step.

Jack sat up and looked down at his fingers as they moved, his eyes heavy with desire. He glanced back up at Bitty. "Ready?" he asked. Bitty nodded.

"Yes, please," said Bitty and groaned at the emptiness he felt when Jack removed his fingers. Jack dug in the bowl for another condom – there were many more condoms than lube packets – and opened it up. Bitty watched him put it on, biting hard on his lip as Jack slid the latex over his perfectly pink and desperately leaking cock. He opened another packet of lube and coated himself with it before he held onto his base to steady himself and pressed the tip of his erection against Bitty's opening. Bitty moaned urgently when Jack pushed in. Jack went slow, sinking further and further inside and occasionally slipping back to test the lubrication, until his hips met flush against Bitty's ass.

"Okay?" Jack asked.

"Yes, you?"

"Perfect," said Jack. "Let me know when I can move." Bitty adjusted himself, hooking his ankles together behind Jack's back and pulling Jack forward by the shoulders. Jack rested against Bitty's stomach and pressed a kiss to Bitty's lips before Bitty said, "Okay, now."

Jack began to thrust in short, shallow strokes and Bitty felt overwhelmed immediately with several sensations. The fullness was most prominent, but behind it was his pleasure and deep within him, the rooted affection he felt for the man who'd become part of him. The affection had started to bubble and Bitty felt tears coming back to his eyes.

"Hey, hey," said Jack, "it's okay."

"I know, I know," said Bitty. "God, I just – please don't forget about me. I couldn't stand it if you forgot about me."

"No, never," said Jack. He pressed his lips against Bitty's again and Bitty responded with fervor, causing Jack to thrust deeper and harder, and soon the bed was creaking steadily underneath them. His movements were hitting just right inside of Bitty and the hard muscles of his abdomen were rubbing against Bitty's leaking cock, trapped in between their bodies. It wasn't going to last long for either of them, and within a few minutes of ardent kissing and enthusiastic thrusting, Bitty came first with a loud cry that Jack covered with his lips, suddenly hyper aware of the thinness of the apartment walls. Jack continued as Bitty contracted several times around him and then, just as Bitty was settling, his ankles uncrossing and his feet resting against the bed, Jack pushed all the way in a final time and came deep inside of Bitty.

Bitty opened his eyes and looked at Jack, who was carefully pulling out. The emptiness carried further than just the space Jack had occupied and Bitty felt further away from Jack than he had in the living room. He reached for Jack, who kissed him, but pulled away to toss the condom into the garbage can before he returned and held Bitty tightly against him.

The weight of the words that they did not speak to each other forced its way in between them, but Bitty rested his head against Jack's chest and the two of them drifted into sleep.

 

***

 

Jack awoke Bitty the next morning with a gentle kiss to the temple. Jack was already dressed in obnoxiously red clothing, his jacket on and zipped to his chin. "You're coming, right?" Jack asked.

"Yeah, I'll be there," replied Bitty.

"You're going to need this." Jack threw Bitty his Team Canada toque and Bitty rolled his eyes. "I'll see you after? We can go to the Closing Ceremony together." Bitty nodded and let Jack kiss him several times before he left, and wondered how many times in his life he would be awoken just like this, naked in bed with Jack on his way to play hockey.

He texted Katya and his mother to ask if they would attend the game with him; both agreed to go, so at noon he headed to the park and met both of them outside the Bolshoy Ice Dome for the final time. His mother kissed him and Katya, after a long look at the Canadian hat on Bitty's head, gently patted his cheek before they went inside. Jack had reserved them seats in the family section, which was close to the ice but behind a net to prevent pucks from flying in their direction. Most of the rest of the audience in this section were wives and girlfriends, but once Bitty saw Farmer and waved to her, the rest of the WAGs stopped sneaking side glances at him.

Bitty sat in between his mother and Katya and leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, nervous for the first time. Sweden was warming up on the ice and they looked good by Bitty's untrained eye, but if they made it all the way to the final game, they were doing something right. When Canada began warming up the WAGs started cheering, waving their Canadian flags both large and small. Bitty searched for Jack and finally found him; Jack glanced up at him and waved. Bitty flushed and waved back; Suzanne did as well. Katya looked over at Bitty and Bitty knew what she was going to say before she said it.

"Not here, Katya," he said quietly. "Not in front of everyone."

"I just worry about you, Eric," she said and the name felt forced coming from her lips.

"I know you do, Katya, and I appreciate it, but it's fine. We talked, we're going to see each other when we get stateside. It's fine."

"Boys make a lot of promises they cannot keep," said Katya. "That's why they are boys."

"Lord, Katya, that explains why you've been married three times."

"Dicky! Inappropriate!" scolded Suzanne. Bitty didn't apologize. The horn blared, signaling the end of warm up and the start of the game. Jack skated to the center of the ice alongside Kent and Shitty. The Swedish center’s back was to Bitty, but unlike the game against Latvia, this player looked to be evenly matched with Jack. They bent over the dot, the puck dropped, and Jack passed it over to Kent. Kent headed down the ice toward the goal but was checked out of the way and everyone headed toward defense, where Holster immediately knocked over the Swedish forward and the game reversed again.

The defense owned the game, refusing shots on goal and violently checking all forwards out of the way if they approached the blue line. Bitty winced every time Jack was checked either into the boards or off his feet, which seemed to happen several times just in the first period. It wasn't until a Swede was penalized for high sticking that Canada finally was able to use their advantage. The penalty was against the defenseman who'd hit Jack, so Jack took the faceoff at the dot and passed the puck to Kent, who was on his right. Jack turned and headed toward the goal and Kent crossed him, passing the puck without looking, and Jack immediately took the shot. It sailed over the goalie's glove and into the net.

"YES!!" yelled Bitty, jumping to his feet and shouting for Jack. He was handed a small Canadian flag from one of the WAGs and waved it frantically in the air as the team crowded Jack on the ice, hitting his helmet with their mitts. Jack glanced up in Bitty's direction; Bitty waved his flag again and Jack smirked before he headed back to the bench.

Jack's goal was the only one of the first period, but Jonathan Toews from the second line scored in the second period. Sweden had barely taken any shots since Ransom and Holster, and then later Weber and Doughty, refused to let anyone near Chowder. Chowder was on fire, though; when someone did get an opportunity to attempt to net one in, he easily blocked most shots and grabbed others right out of the air with his glove.

At the end of the second period, Bitty took out of his phone and sent Jack a text. Katya looked over his shoulder.

"Why are you texting him? He doesn't have his phone on the ice," she said.

"Yeah but he'll get it after," said Bitty.

 

      **Bitty**  
     I don't want to jinx it, but you're going to win a Gold Medal  
  
      **Bitty**  
     Ten minutes left. You're going to win it  
  
      **Bitty**  
     Five minutes  
  
      **Bitty**  
     ANOTHER GOAL! HOLY SHIT SHITTY!!!  
  
      **Bitty**  
     OH MY GOD TWO MINUTES  
  
      **Bitty**  
     Lord I'm crying  
  
      **Bitty**  
     Congratulations  
  
      **Bitty**  
     I love 

 

Bitty looked down at his phone and through the tears in his eyes he realized what he was writing and quickly backspaced all of it. He wiped at his eyes and waved his small Canadian flag as he watched the team line up in front of a blue carpet. Three men in suits walked out with twenty-five gold medals and began handing them out. Bitty, unable to see their faces clearly from this distance, watched on the screen above him as each was adorned with his medal. It was fine until Bitty saw Chowder accept his medal in tears, and Bitty had to place his hands over his mouth to hold in his happiness. Shitty smiled but clearly was close to breaking down. Ransom and Holster fist-bumped after their turn was over. Kent nodded and waved after his medal was given to him, the crowd breaking into loud applause for him. At the very end of the line was Jack, a small smile on his lips. When he ducked his head to receive his medal, fresh tears fell out of Bitty's eyes and the entire WAG section stood for Jack when he waved.

They remained standing for the Canadian national anthem and Bitty felt awkward when everyone began to sing since he didn't know any of the words. The people behind Bitty were singing in French. Bitty stood with his hands over his mouth and watched Jack, hugging his teammates, as they all held each other close and sang the anthem of their country.


	14. Chapter Thirteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, many thanks to my beta [Luckie_Dee](http://archiveofourown.org/users/luckie_dee/pseuds/luckie_dee/works) for all of her help with this. She just recently posted a great [Patater fic](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8880424/chapters/20359441) for 'Swawesome Santa 2016 that you should read!

**BITTY x JACK**

 

"Are you sure you want to go?" Jack asked quietly as Bitty buttoned up his blue USA pea coat. Jack stood on the other side of the living room in his Canada coat, his toque in his hands, his eyes on Bitty. "We have to walk in by country. I'm not going to get to sit next to you. The ceremony is, like, three hours long."

"We don't  _ have _ to walk in by country," said Bitty. "I'm sure if I snuck in with Canada nobody would care." Jack frowned at Bitty, who looked down at his blue coat and then over at Jack and his red and white coat. "I guess it would be pretty obvious, though."

"If we were two guys on opposing curling teams who didn't medal I'd say that'd be fine," said Jack, "but we're not. Everyone here knows who I am and everyone here knows who you are. It'd be really obvious if we walked in together."

"How is this any different than sitting me in the family section at the game?" Bitty asked.

"You weren't on TV during the game. Do you know how many people are going to watch this ceremony? They're going to be looking for us and if they see us, we're going to be on TV. Together." Bitty looked down at his mittens and sighed. It was entirely too obvious.

"This is going to be when it gets tough, isn't it?" Bitty asked. Jack nodded. "I don't know if I can do it. I don't know if I can keep it a secret." Jack blinked several times and looked out the window instead of at Bitty; this was a conversation they hadn't had and he was terrified of the outcome, especially after awaking at midnight to find Bitty freezing to death in front of the open window.

"It's not from everyone," said Jack. He looked back at Bitty. "Your family knows. I'll probably tell my parents when I get back. Shitty knows. Parse knows. There are people we can talk to. We just can't tell anyone else."

"For how long? Forever? Are we going to be eighty and still hiding?"

"I don't know, Bits," said Jack and he took in a deep breath. "For now, at least." Bitty threw his mittens on the table and sat down. "Can we not? Please? Can we just be together for a while and be happy about it before we start worrying about what tomorrow is going to look like?"

"I know what tomorrow is going to look like, Jack," said Bitty. "We're going to go home and I'm going to have to go to sleep in my dorm room and tell my roommate about how fantastic and wonderful and beautiful it was here and not get to tell him that I met you and that I – that I care about you. That this is the best part of my Olympics."

"I know, Bitty," said Jack. "I want to say it too."

"My mother is going to kill me if I don't go," said Bitty.

"She's not even going to see you."

"Can we take a walk?" Bitty asked. "Everyone's going to be in the stadium. We can look at the sea." Jack nodded.

They waited until the audience doors opened for the ceremony, knowing people would be milling about the park before it began. The Village was a ghost town – many of the athletes left after the end of their events, but those who remained were there solely for the Closing Ceremony. Jack and Bitty left Building C to find an empty, trash-filled street. Plastic bottles, condom wrappers, and empty cartons of food littered the pavement, awaiting the clean-up crew that would begin the next day. The lights in the apartment buildings were out but the streetlamps were on, and Bitty and Jack walked side by side in the middle of the paved road, their eyes downcast, headed toward the park.

It was about two miles from the Village to the park taking Olympic Avenue, and though they left the Village in silence, simply being in each other's presence, Bitty quickly found something to say. "You know," he began, and Jack looked over, "there were definitely things I wanted to do here that I never actually did. I didn't even realize they had a roller coaster. It's hideous and probably terrifying but it's a roller coaster all the same. Do you like roller coasters, Jack?"

"They're all right," Jack said.

"I love them. Lord, they're the worst though. We'd always take the campers to Six Flags once during the summer and I remember spending the majority of the time worried to death about losing one of them, but we never actually did. They were old enough to understand check-ins and using the buddy system and whatnot, but Walker one year made me ride Superman and you're strapped in but the seat lifts like you're flying and my word was that the worst. I thought I was going to pass out before we even got off the belt. I don't think I've ever screamed so much in my life."

"Hmm, I never pictured you as much of a screamer," said Jack with a wicked grin and Bitty paused, his mouth open, before he realized what Jack meant.

"Was that a sex reference? Did you just make a sex reference with me, Jack Zimmermann? You KNOW if I'm a screamer." Jack chuckled and Bitty continued as they passed the aforementioned roller coaster and continued on toward the park.

"I'm glad we went out to lunch that one day and I got to eat that amazing risotto but I wish we ate more Russian food and less cafeteria food. I know cafeteria food is probably better for me and I probably would have gotten sick something awful from Russian street vendors but you're not in another country unless you eat their food. What about you, Jack? What do you wish you'd done?"

"I wish I would have kissed you sooner," said Jack. Bitty blushed, the red in his cheeks still evident in the streetlight.

"Yeah?" Bitty asked.

"Yeah. I should have kissed you right away. That first day."

"Ugh, you didn't even like me the first day!"

"It wasn't that I didn't like you, it's that you knocked over my best player."

"I didn't do it on purpose!"

"You still knocked him over."

"He's fine. He was more concerned that he ran into me. As you should have been. My knee was messed up for days."

Jack stopped walking and Bitty was several steps ahead before he noticed and looked back at him. Jack was in between streetlights, making his expression dark and hard to read, but the concern was obvious there. "What?" Bitty asked.

"Was your knee really messed up? Did it affect your performance?" Jack asked.

"No, Jack. Hanyu broke a world record during his short program. There's no way I could have gotten gold." Bitty reached out his hand and Jack looked toward the street; it was practically empty as the sound of the Closing Ceremony began to fill the silence in the air. Jack stepped forward and allowed Bitty to loop his arm through Jack's. "That's not to say I can't beat him at Worlds. I'm going to spend the next few weeks working on a few things and I think based on what I saw here, I do have a chance."

They circumvented the park, staying on Olympic Avenue, and headed along the beach toward the sea. The sound of the music from the Closing Ceremony was echoing out of the stadium and into the nighttime sky, but it wasn’t so loud that Bitty and Jack couldn’t hear the waves as they approached. The beach was sandless, smooth pebbles and rocks crunching under their feet instead as they walked along the shore, arms linked, eyes to the water.

It was too dark to see the mountains, really too dark to see anything past the gentle waves lapping at the shoreline. Jack let go of Bitty and picked up a few of the flatter, smoother stones to test how far out they could see. Bitty watched, his hands deep in the pockets of his coat, as Jack stood parallel to the sea and flung the rock onto the surface of the water. Bitty looked out and it skipped once before falling in. Jack tried again and it skipped twice, causing Bitty to snicker. Jack looked over.

"What?" he asked.

"You clearly grew up in Winter Land," said Bitty. "Gimme." Bitty removed one of his gloves and held out his hand for a stone, which Jack placed in his palm. Bitty turned around, his back to Jack, and took one step toward the water while his hand released it. It skipped so far that they couldn't see where it stopped, but the eddies expanded in wide, smooth circles. Jack handed Bitty another and they stood there together, skipping stones into the cold water and listening to the steady rush of the waves.

Jack collected a few more stones for Bitty, searching the ground for the best options, and realized that they were completely alone. Since they'd entered the beach, cars had driven by but none of them were close enough to make out Bitty or Jack's faces, and the combination of the park's event and the cold weather prevented any other beachgoers from taking advantage of the final night in Sochi. Jack handed another stone to Bitty but before Bitty could throw it, Jack encircled Bitty's waist with his arms and put his nose in Bitty's neck.

"Agh, your nose is cold," said Bitty.

"I'm sorry," replied Jack. He gently kissed Bitty's neck and Bitty relaxed into his embrace. "Better?"

"Yes," Bitty whispered. Jack placed his hands atop Bitty's in the pockets of Bitty's coat and they swayed together with the rhythm of the water. Bitty closed his eyes and allowed himself to be warmed by Jack’s body heat.

"Jack?" Bitty asked.

"Yes?"

"Can we stay like this forever?"

"Yes," Jack replied.

 

***

 

Bitty awoke, startled, to the sound of the alarm on his phone. Jack awoke as well, his strong grip around Bitty's waist, and lifted his face from Bitty's neck. Bitty reached for his phone on the nightstand and looked at the time.

Six thirty.

Bitty stared at the time as if it would prevent it from moving on, but even as he did the time ticked to six thirty-one and a text came through.

 

      **Mama**  
     You awake, hun? I'll meet you downstairs in an hour.  
  


Bitty's eyes filled with tears at the sight of the text. He dropped the phone and rolled over into Jack's chest. Jack pulled him close and Bitty, despite his better judgment, began to cry. Jack carefully ran his fingers through Bitty's hair and whispered quietly to him. "Shh, Bits, it's okay."

"I don't want to leave you," said Bitty. "Tell me I'm just dreaming and this isn't real yet."

"It'll be okay," whispered Jack. "I'm not far away. I won't be far away. I promise." Jack carefully kissed the top of Bitty's head while Bitty calmed down, wasting the last few valuable minutes they had together. "Come on, Bits. Let's get up and we'll take a shower together, okay?" Bitty nodded and wiped his eyes. Jack kissed him good morning before they left the bed and headed to the bathroom.

Jack turned on the shower extra warm for Bitty, who preferred it that way, and they both stood underneath the spray. Bitty wrapped his arms across his chest, still cold, but looked up at Jack as Jack poured shampoo into his hand and lathered it. "Come here," he said. Bitty wet his hair under the showerhead before he stepped forward and let Jack massage the shampoo into his hair. Bitty sighed and closed his eyes; Jack shampooed for much longer than necessary. Bitty returned his head under the spray to rinse off and then maneuvered Jack under the water to return the favor. It was harder to do, with Jack being so tall, but they laughed when Bitty tried to wipe shampoo off Jack's forehead and just instead got it all over Jack's face, then Jack picked up the soap and began to rub Bitty's skin. Bitty tensed, just momentarily, as Jack's strong hands worked the lather over Bitty's chest and arms, then down his stomach and then, as Jack looked into Bitty's eyes, around the length of his aroused cock.

"Jack," Bitty moaned and bit his lip; Jack smirked as he continued to stroke Bitty's cock and Bitty had to grab the wall for support.

"Good?" Jack asked. Bitty nodded, unable to form words. "Tight enough?" Bitty nodded again. "Faster or slower?"

"Oh God, Jack," muttered Bitty, "faster." Jack stroked faster and within a few moments Bitty came in Jack's fist, spilling through Jack's hand and onto Jack's stomach. Bitty opened his eyes, breathing hard, and looked over Jack's torso. He gently wiped a hand through the mess there and smiled when he looked up at Jack. "Looks like I might have to clean you up now."

Jack smiled back. "Looks like it."

Bitty took the soap from Jack and lathered it in his hands before he began to clean Jack's chest and down to his stomach. He purposefully avoided Jack's noticeable erection and changed course to Jack's sides and back instead, turning Jack around and cleaning the entire back half of him before kneeling to get his calves and feet. "Turn around," Bitty said. Jack did, turning back to face Bitty, and Bitty began to scrub at Jack's shins, over his knees, and in between his thighs, but carefully avoided one particular area.

"Bits," said Jack.

Bitty looked up.

"Are you teasing me?" Jack asked.

"I don't know what you're talking about," said Bitty. He finished washing the deep cut of Jack's hips and then raised to one knee to stand, but Jack placed a hand on Bitty's shoulder and pushed him back down. Bitty couldn't control his smile. "What?"

"You missed a spot."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah. A pretty big spot."

Bitty looked directly in front of him and then back up at Jack. "Pretty big, you say?" Bitty teased.

"Yes. Very big."

"Oh, very big?" Bitty asked and Jack put his hand on the back of Bitty's head and pulled him closer. The desire was clear on Jack's face, in the wide expanse of his eyes and the curl of his lip, and Bitty finally placed his hand around the base of Jack's pretty big erection and gently kissed it. Jack moaned softly and closed his eyes, and Bitty wrapped his mouth around it, taking in as much as he could. Jack's hands held onto Bitty's head insistently, gently guiding Bitty faster or slower, until Jack groaned and pulled out of Bitty's mouth. Bitty waited, his hand still stroking Jack's cock, and Jack came, shooting onto Bitty's face. Jack looked down and nearly collapsed.

"Fuck," he said and a final stream of come shot out of his cock onto Bitty's cheek. Bitty let go and sat back and Jack ran his fingers along the streaks on Bitty's face, completely entranced at the sight of it. "I can't believe you let me do that." Bitty giggled and Jack slid his thumb up from the smear on Bitty's chin into Bitty's mouth, and Bitty sucked Jack's thumb clean. "Oh fuck, I can't even believe you, Eric Bittle."

Bitty looked up at Jack again, unable to hide the smile on his face, and Jack quickly turned his gaze to the ceiling. "No, I can't," he said. "If I look at you we're going to have to do this again and you have to leave soon."

Bitty let go of Jack's thumb and sat back, his face under the shower spray to rinse the rest of Jack's come. Bitty stood and Jack shut off the water and they stared at each other for a moment before Bitty jumped out of the shower and began to dry off.

Fifteen minutes later Bitty stood in the living room, with his duffel bag slung over one shoulder and the garment bag containing his costumes in his hand. Jack had Bitty's equipment bag and suitcase, and Bitty kept looking around as if he were forgetting something.

"I have my phone," he said, checking his pocket. "My computer, my chargers, my clothes, my skates, my practice skates, my costumes, my –"

"I think you've got everything, Bits," said Jack. "Where are your medals?"

Bitty cracked a smile and tapped his duffel bag.

"We're good, then." Bitty nodded but he didn't feel anywhere close to good. "Come here." Bitty lay the garment bag over the back of the chair, dropped his duffel bag, and then ran forward into Jack's open arms. Jack held him tightly against his chest, one hand in Bitty's hair, the other around Bitty's waist. "Text me when you get home."

"When do you leave?" Bitty asked, not willing to remove his head from Jack's chest.

"Not until two."

"Ugh, I wish I could wait until two. I just want to stay here with you." Jack kissed the top of his head and Bitty closed his eyes, breathing the scent of Jack's clean skin. "I'll miss you."

"I'll miss you," replied Jack. "We'll see each other soon, though, okay?" Bitty nodded and reluctantly let go. He looked up at Jack and Jack looked down at him, mustering some kind of smile that didn't look at all like it belonged on Jack's face. "Soon."

"Goodbye, Jack," said Bitty.

"Goodbye, Bitty."

Jack carefully kissed him and Bitty responded, hungry, but Jack pulled away too soon. Bitty took a step back, out of Jack's arms, and picked up his two bags. Jack followed Bitty out of the apartment, down the stairs, and to the lobby where Suzanne was waiting.

She was not alone but looked as if she wished she were. Beside her sat Caitlin Farmer, but in front of her stood Chowder, Ransom, Holster, Shitty, and Lardo.

"Aww, no pie?" Ransom immediately said.

"Ransom! You knew there wasn't going to be pie!" scolded Farmer. Ransom scrunched his nose in disappointment.

Shitty bounded forward to give the first hug, followed by Lardo and Farmer and Chowder, and then Ransom and Holster grabbed him at the same time and squished them between their bodies.

"Uff! I can't breathe!" shouted Bitty into their chests, and they quickly let him go.

"Listen, Bits," said Ransom, "come to a game. We have three in a row right away when we get back. Text me and I'll get you tix."

"Okay," said Bitty.

"And if you ever have a reason to come to Toronto, you know where I'll be," said Holster.

"Thanks, guys," said Bitty.

"Honey, we need to get going. You still need to check out and we have to be at the airport soon." Bitty nodded and adjusted his duffel bag on his shoulder. He reached out to Jack for his equipment bag and as Jack handed it over, their fingers briefly touched. Bitty looked up into Jack's eyes and they frowned at each other for just a moment before Bitty turned and walked out of the lobby. Once they were out of sight Bitty put his hands over his eyes and Suzanne put her hand on his shoulder, and they took a moment before they headed home.

 

***

 

 **Eric Bittle** @omgcheckplease  
That went by way too fast. Thanks for the memories, Sochi #Olympics #Sochi2014  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's the end of the Olympics! A few more chapters to go and this will be all wrapped up. Thank you so much to everyone who's read and commented so far.
> 
> Just a quick question: I did a lot of research for this fic, and I'm the kind of person who records a lot of voice notes when brainstorming. If anyone is interested in seeing/hearing any of that, leave me a comment and I might compile and post when we're all done here!


	15. Chapter Fourteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you thinking "Angst? What angst?"

**BITTY**

 

Eric looked at his phone again before he threw it in his bag. Katya would throw a fit if she knew he was checking it again so he pulled out his water bottle and took an obvious sip from it before he dropped it back on the bench behind the boards and skated to the center of the rink. Four texts since Jack's last response. Four texts since Jack's only response.

He'd seen the Falconers’ end of season schedule. To make up for the games they didn't play while their Captain was in Sochi, the rest of February and all of March so far had been back-to-back games with very few days off in between. Apparently most of the league was like that, trying to get all eighty-two games in before the end of the regular season in April, but it seemed a little ridiculous to try to cram so much in, giving their athletes so little free time.

Or, at least, that's what Eric told himself when Jack never responded.

He was able to go to a Bruins home game about a week after returning to Boston. Ransom was incredibly welcoming and said Eric could meet the team if he brought enough pie for all of them. Eric did bring enough pie for all of them and saved the best one just for Ransom, who looked at it and wiped a tear from his eye at the sight of the perfectly scalloped crust.

"Bro," he'd said, and pulled Eric into a rib-crushing hug, "thank you. I'm so glad you're nearby."

"Me too, Rans," said Eric, and Eric wondered how long it would take to get to the Providence stadium from Samwell. He'd purposefully not googled it, waiting for the invitation from Jack that never actually came.

"Bitty, back to earth," shouted Katya from the boards. Eric looked up and realized the music had already started and he'd missed it. "Try it again from the flying spin."

Eric nodded and skated toward her, gaining momentum, and when he reached his optimal speed, she began the music again and he hopped into his spin, revolving quickly, the familiar dizziness blanking his mind from other thoughts. He changed position, crouching low to the ice, and then after eight revolutions stood up and headed toward the other side of the rink, focused on the spot where he'd take his leap. He stared it down from over his shoulder, waiting for it to arrive, building speed, then he sank his right foot into the ice and vaulted into the air. He spun _one two three fo_ –

"Dammit!" he yelled as his right foot came down too soon and he tumbled onto his back.

"Get up," yelled Katya, "and come here."

Eric rubbed his right hip as he skated back over to Katya. She watched his form as he returned to her and then looked up at him. "Are you okay?" she asked. He nodded. "You were tilted when you entered it. You anticipated that you wouldn't have enough time to rotate."

"I didn't have enough time to rotate," said Eric.

"You do. You have the height and the speed. You can rotate four times."

"Worlds is in a week. I don't think I should bump my triple to a quad. I can't get it consistently."

"You had it all day yesterday," said Katya. "You had it all day the day before. I wouldn't push if I didn't think you could do it. You can. If you want to win Worlds, this is how you do it. No one else is doing a quad lutz."

"Because no one else is an idiot," said Eric.

"You can do it. Your triple lutz is your best jump."

"Then why am I sacrificing it for something that's shaky at best?"

"Shaky or not, landing it will get you the points you need to beat Hanyu. Your free skate is so much better than his and you will have the focus and determination to skate it the cleanest I've ever seen it. You just need to up your technical on the short."

"What does it matter if I come in second at Worlds?" Eric said, kicking at the ice with his right toe pick. "I came second at the Olympics. They'll expect it."

"They'll expect you to be hungry for it, Bitty. They'll expect you to try and to do something that shows that you want to be there."

"Well maybe I don't want to be there," said Eric, shrugging his shoulders, and as soon as the words left his mouth he regretted saying them. Katya stared at him a moment before she began to pick up her phone and her purse. "Katya…"

"I told you not to get involved with that boy," she said.

"What does have to do with Jack?" Eric asked. "What does any of this have to do with Jack?"

"Ever since you met him you have been unfocused and sloppy. I can see you, Bitty. I can see you checking your phone, waiting for him. He is not good for you. Now listen - no, now you listen! This is just a boy. You have been skating for fifteen years, since you were my Itty Bitty baby. This is what your life is. You don't want to go to Worlds? You can win Worlds, Bitty. You have it in you. You have the quad lutz. If you do quad lutz in the second half, you can score higher than Hanyu in your short program. Your free skate is already better than his. You can win, Bitty."

"Well maybe I don't want any of that, Katya," snapped Eric. "I don't want to be Mr. Georgia Boy from the south that everyone thinks is cute and perfect and everyone wants to be Team America. I never wanted any of that. I just wanted to skate but then I was good, and then I wanted to show people I was good so they would shut up about the things that I wasn't and talk about the things that I was. I did that. I went to the Olympics and I won medals and I am done with this."

Katya put on her coat. "So we're not going to Japan?"

Bitty sighed, looking at Katya, the woman who he'd spent the majority of his life with. She was still Katya, three husbands and two divorces later, still the woman who had called him Itty Bitty and had held his hands when he was learning to skate and had told him that he could win just because he could, not because she wanted him to be good at something for once. This dream was as much hers as it was his, and he felt guilty for trying to take it away from her.

"No, we're still going," said Eric, dropping his hands from his hips. "I'm sorry. I'm just frustrated. I'm sorry."

"So we're going to Japan?"

"Yeah."

Katya took off her coat and returned it to her chair.

"Forget about the boy, Bitty," she said. "He's not worth it. It's not worth it."

"Is the part where you say 'I told you so?'"

"I think I already did."

Eric glanced at his bag, sitting on the bench several feet away. He ignored it and skated back to the other side of the rink. Katya called him over; he headed in her direction, picking up speed, and she queued the music when he entered his flying spin again. He spun, still dizzy, still lightning fast, and then skated toward the spot on the opposite side of the ice again, determined. He stared it down, ready for it, and then jumped – _one two three four_ –

He landed on his right foot over rotated and fell down again, face first, his hands scraping the ice. He slammed his hands down, frustrated, but Katya's voice lilted over from the other side of the rink. "See? You have the time," she said.

An hour later Eric looked at his phone and tried not to be disappointed that Jack had not texted back. He sent another message and then threw the phone in his bag before he followed Katya out of the rink.

 

**JACK**

 

      **Bitty**  
     Home safe!  
  
      **Jack**  
     Just got home.  
  
      **Bitty**  
     I just checked the Falconers schedule. Ugh! I'm sure you were hoping for a break before getting right back into it.  
  
      **Bitty**  
     Ransom says hi!  
  
      **Bitty**  
     Good luck on the road!  
  
      **Bitty**  
     Oh wow, that was a bad hit! Hope you're okay. Take care of that chin!  
  
      **Bitty**  
     We're leaving for Japan in the morning. Text me.  
  
      **Bitty**  
     If you can.

 

Jack looked at his phone and stared at Bitty's last text. It was nearly a week old and Jack knew he was an idiot for not replying. Bitty lived his life around his phone; Jack could have texted at any time and Bitty would have responded, be it late at night in the hotel room when Jack would snake his hands under his covers and think about Bitty's mouth, or at the lunch table when Jack wished he could be eating apple pie for his carbs instead of yet another plate of pasta.

It was getting to the point where Jack needed to find an excuse other than just _sorry, hockey_ to explain his silence. It was getting to the point where he'd completely blown it and the thought of never actually seeing Bitty again was physically painful. He quickly corrected himself – it wasn't physically painful, but it did raise the anxiety levels in his chest to maximum pressure, and he sat on his couch in his apartment in Providence and clicked the phone out of sleep mode over and over again, staring at Bitty's words and being completely unsure how to respond.

Another text came through while he was staring and he jumped, but it wasn't from Bitty:

 

      **Nursey**  
     Want a ride to the game, Cap?

 

Jack stared at it. Nursey lived in the same apartment building as Jack and when Jack first learned this it brought him a considerable amount of unnecessary social anxiety. Fortunately, Nursey was very relaxed and didn’t expect Jack to entertain him just because they lived two floors apart. They did frequently carpool to home games just because it made sense, but they mostly didn’t interact. Jack had invited Nursey over to play video games a few times and sometimes Nursey invited Jack over to watch the Patriots on Sundays, but Nursey was a raucous football fan and Dex was always over there too.

 

      **Jack**  
     Sure. Be down in ten.

 

Why wasn't it that easy to text Bitty? Why did Jack have to overanalyze absolutely everything he could put into a text? Just saying _hey_ at this point seemed entirely too informal for someone who'd had Jack's come on his face, and saying _I miss you_ was probably hypocritical after four weeks of silence, even if it were true. Jack had no idea what to say and Bitty's final text sounded actually final.

Jack put on his shoes and put his phone in his pocket before he headed out the door and down two flights of stairs to Nursey's apartment. When Jack knocked Dex opened the door. "Do you just live here now?" Jack asked.

"Ha, yeah right," said Dex. "Like I could put up with this guy for that long."

"But you're always here, Dex," said Jack. Dex shrugged his shoulders but when he turned around to call for Nursey, Jack noticed his ears were pink. Jack was reminded of how Troy looked when Jack walked in on him and Kent in the living room of the apartment in Sochi. He wondered how many of them there were in the NHL, and how many of them were hiding it from each other.

Their game that evening was against the Aces. Just the knowledge of that usually brought the dread of seeing Kent again, but seeing Kent again in Sochi actually turned out fine – not great, but fine – and after seven years the media finally stopped playing them up as rivals. He still received questions now and again about Kent, what it was like to play him Captain versus Captain when they used to be friends, but the answer was always the same: "It's been a long time since Kent and I were friends." No one was ever satisfied with the reply, but it was the easiest truth Jack could give them. Kent was someone else, and so was Jack, and they were never going to have the friendship they had when they were kids.

Jack didn't play his best hockey, but Providence squeaked out a win in overtime. Jack got an assist but didn't score that night, which was fine, but he knew when he headed back to the locker room that the upcoming three-day break was very much needed. Not everyone on the team had the excuse he did; they stayed home with their families while Jack won gold for Canada over in Russia, but the rest of the team was also starting to drag a bit after so many games in a row, most of them away games played all over the Eastern Conference.

Kent waited for him outside the locker room and Jack was surprised that he was there. " 'Sup, Zimms?" he asked. "Good game." Kent held out his fist for Jack to bump, and Jack did, but he continued to regard Kent suspiciously. "Calm down, I'm not going to bash your knee in with a lead pipe or anything. Do you want to grab a drink? Or at least a bite?"

"Yeah, sure," said Jack and he glanced around; they were alone. "Is Troy coming?"

"No," said Kent, shaking his head. "We try not to hang out together. I can't keep it a secret if I actually have to interact with him in front of other people."

"He's on your line, though," said Jack.

"People mostly think we hate each other. I'm okay with that."

They couldn't decide on a place to go, so they ended up at the bar at Kent's hotel, sitting in a booth in the adjacent restaurant that was now closed. Kent had downed the majority of his beer already but Jack was barely through the neck of his. It was a Wednesday at ten o'clock; apart from the bored bartender they were the only people around.

"So what's up, Parse?" Jack asked. "Why are we suddenly talking to each other again?"

"Thought I'd catch up. Didn't actually say goodbye before I peaced out in Russia. Not that you would have been around to hear it, though." Jack looked at the label of his beer and didn't respond. "How's your baker? Did he move in yet?"

Jack looked up.

"I've – I've kind of fucked it up, Parse."

"Really? You?" Kent asked, laughing. "Let me guess, he's been texting you and you haven't responded." Jack nodded. "Now when has that happened before? I can't remember –"

"Stop it, Parse. I'm not going to apologize for cutting you out of my life. It was the right thing to do at the time."

"You could have at least told me that was it. A text. Smoke signals. A singing telegram. Fucking anything would have been better than silence." Jack took another swig of his beer and didn't like the way it felt running down his throat. "Listen, if this kid's anything like me – which he probably is, because as much as you may not want to hear this, Zimms, you have a type – he's probably still head over heels for you."

"What makes you think that?"

"Because I still am, bud, and it's been seven years."

Jack stared at the bottle in his hand rather than across the table; Kent's admission wasn't shocking, but it was unnecessary. Kent waited for him to process it, like Kent knew how to do. Out of everything they'd said to each other over the past few weeks, and everything they hadn't said to each other since meeting again at the training camp in August, Kent had one thing right: it had been seven years.

"He's not like you, Kent," said Jack as he looked up. Kent cocked an eyebrow. "You and I were never good for each other, but Bits –"

"He is?"

"Yeah."

"Maybe you’re right. Maybe he isn’t like me. But I did know you first - and I knew you for a long time. It doesn’t matter if I still do now - but don’t worry, Zimms. He'll forgive you, but probably only the once. You need to actually follow through after you talk to him again."

"I just wish he was here," said Jack. "I have three whole days off and he's in Japan –"

"Oh, isn't he at the World Championship or some shit like that?" Jack raised an eyebrow. "I may have googled him. Several times." Jack's eyebrow remained lifted. "What? I wanted to know why you liked him so much. I didn't figure it out but I did at least learn that he is at the World Championship this week. I think the first part of his skate was today."

"Was it?" Jack asked.

"God, what kind of horrible boyfriend are you?" Kent asked. "Come on, let's go upstairs. I'm sure it's on YouTube by now." Kent downed the rest of his beer; Jack took a sip of his and left it on the table before he followed Kent to the elevator and up to his room. Kent grabbed his laptop and sat on his bed and Jack looked at him; it was so eerily familiar to be in a hotel room, alone, looking at Kent Parson on top of his bed, like they were in the Q still. Kent looked up and snickered.

"I'm not going to bite, Zimms. Come sit down," he said. Jack sat down next to Kent on the bed and Kent began searching for videos of the World Championships on YouTube. It didn't take long before Kent began a video of Bitty's short program and Jack realized he was woefully unprepared to see Bitty for the first time in four weeks.

Bitty stood on the edge of the boards with Katya, dressed in a similar outfit from his competition at the Olympics – gray flannel trousers and a loose white button-down shirt, his hair messy as if he'd just awoken. The program would be the same, but this time Jack had actually seen Bitty just as he had awoken, and the knowledge only fueled the illusion. Jack could see Bitty, sleep worn and bleary eyed, as the sun gently touched his face and brought him back to Jack. Bitty would open his eyes and smile and blush before he'd turn toward Jack and breathe him in. "Why are you so beautiful this early in the morning?" Bitty had asked, and as Jack's eyes traveled the expanse of Bitty's warm body, he wondered the same thing.

This was not Bitty as his precious morning self – he looked ragged and beat down, as if he'd been overworked for weeks with no rest. Jack stared at him and wished he could make it better, but Bitty was thousands of miles away and Jack had not spoken a word to him since the moment he landed in the United States again.

There were two commentators again on this performance, but they weren’t the same as the ones from the Olympics, and Jack did not recognize their voices. They began to speak after Katya patted Bitty's face and Bitty headed toward the center of the ice.

"Eric Bittle takes the ice, coming off a very successful Olympics. Bronze in the team event, silver in the men's individual. I watched him in warm ups earlier; he's made some edits to his short program in response to Yuzuru Hanyu's world record skate, and honestly, he's never looked better. We've seen a lot of talented skaters today, including Hanyu, but now is when the competition begins."

"I think a lot of people really saw Bittle for the first time at the Olympics and fell in love with him," added the other commentator as Bitty looked down and hugged himself close; Jack took in a sharp breath and remembered Bitty standing in the living room at midnight, clutching the quilt around his body and shivering. "He's got so much emotion in his performance, be it this one which is so quiet and devastating, or his free skate which we'll see on Friday. Two very different performances, two very captivating routines."

Jack stared as the soft music began. Bitty lifted his eyes and Jack covered his mouth with the back of his hand before he attempted to either reach out to the computer screen or gasp; Bitty had looked conflicted the first time Jack watched his performance, had looked sad during the bridge of his exhibition program, but this look was authentic, and Jack knew the reason for it.

"Now Bittle's first jump is a quad toe triple toe combination, and these jumps are going to be the differentiator between he and Hanyu; Bittle definitely excels in emotion and interpretation, but does he have the technical skills to edge out Hanyu? Here it is –" Jack held his breath as Bitty flew into the air, spun around four times, landed, and then immediately launched up again. "Perfect. Absolutely perfect."

The perfection of the jump didn't matter; Jack could only focus on Bitty's face, the emotion never lost. Jack wanted to look away but instead he stared, and then Bitty turned to prepare for another jump. "Here we go – Bittle is the only one attempting two quads in his short program and the only one attempting a quad lutz in this competition. His triple lutz is his signature jump – let's see if he can nail it… Easy. He makes it look easy."

"You okay, Zimms?" Kent asked. Jack looked over; Kent was staring directly at him. "This isn't live. We can pause it if you want to take a break."

"No, it's almost over," said Jack as Bitty completed his final jump to praise from the commentators.

Bitty began his last spin of the program, his hand on his heart, slowly revolving on one foot in time with the music.  Jack followed his face; Bitty stared upward, his eyes shining for reasons completely unrelated to the bright lights focused directly on him. Jack counted the spins, watching Bitty's face appear and disappear as he turned, watched as Bitty clutched at the buttons on his shirt as if he were clutching directly at his heart, and then after eight spins he sank to a crouch and hugged his knees, and stared into the ice.

"He's good," Kent whispered. Jack nodded. Bitty took a moment there in the crouch as the audience applauded and the commentators began to recap his performance, then he swiftly stood and began to bow. There was just one shot of his face, and that was all Jack needed for it to be too much – Bitty's cheeks were flushed and blotchy, he had tears in his eyes, and his smile was the opposite of what his face said.

Jack stood up and headed to the door but Kent spoke again.

"Jack," said Kent. Jack looked back at Kent, who gave him a supportive smile. "Your next game isn't until Sunday, right?" Jack nodded. "Go. Make an excuse if you have practice. Just go to Japan and see him. He'll want to see you."

"After I've said nothing?"

"Look at this." Kent turned the computer screen to Jack; Bitty sat on the bench with Katya, clutching a bunny in his hands and wiping at his eyes. "That's because of you. Go see him. I'll pay for the damn ticket if you're going to be a bitch about it."

Jack stared at Kent and then let out a deep, complicated sigh. "Look up flights for me, will you?"

He plopped back down on the bed and Kent began to search.


	16. Chapter Fifteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks as always to [Luckie](http://archiveofourown.org/users/luckie_dee/pseuds/luckie_dee/works) for her instrumental beta help on this!

**JACK**

 

It wasn't the cost of the last-minute flight from Boston to Tokyo that wore down Jack's confidence in a successful reunion, it was the twelve hour flight on top of a thirteen hour time difference. He arrived in Tokyo the morning of Bitty's free skate performance both mentally and physically exhausted. As soon as the plane landed, he turned on his phone and saw a text that he was afraid to open:

  
      **Suzanne**  
     I'll meet you at the airport.  
  
      **Jack**  
     Just landed  
  
      **Suzanne**  
     I'm outside security.  
  


He didn't have Katya's number and, from their limited interaction, had reason to believe that Katya would have ignored his texts. He knew Suzanne was in Tokyo, though, and sent her a message just before he boarded to tell her he was on the way and, if she was willing to see him, would like to come to the competition. He anticipated a polite but thorough  _ no _ , but her reply was better than expected.

Jack had a return flight for Sunday morning at ten o'clock, since going the other way he'd be able to get home about the same time he left. He headed through the terminal toward baggage claim. When he would return to this concourse in forty-eight hours, there were only two possible scenarios: a happy, hopeful future with Eric Bittle, or the final nail in the coffin of their relationship.

An elephant sat on his chest as he thought about the second scenario; he may have singlehandedly ruined his chances, but he didn't want to think about the possibility of never seeing Bitty again. He couldn't get a read on Suzanne's mood from her texts, but her forgiveness was just the gatekeeper to the possibility of asking Bitty for redemption; she could very possibly forgive him when Bitty would not. She could also very possibly never forgive him.

She stood on the other side of the security lines, her arms crossed in front of her chest, her eyes searching the crowd for him. Jack had never met Bitty's father, but the family resemblance between Suzanne and Bitty was unmistakable; they had the same chin, the same cheeks, the same color hair. Their eyes were completely different, though, and Jack wondered if Bitty's eyes came from his father instead.

Suzanne spotted him before he got too close and her jaw set in a foreboding way. Jack approached carefully but stopped several feet in front of her. She looked directly at him and waited for him to speak first.

"Mrs. Bittle, I need to apologize to you."

"I'm not the one you need to apologize to," she said, the lilt in her southern accent polite but icy.

"Yes, I need to apologize to you," he said. "Any pain I caused Eric has also affected you. It's not my right to ask you to help me when I've caused you and your family heartache."

Suzanne's lower lip quivered and she stepped forward. "Jack," she said and she opened her arms to him, "It's good to see you." Jack let her embrace him, unsure of how long she intended to hug him. They stood there for a few moments, busy travelers passing by without a second look, and then she stepped back and wiped at her eyes.

"Is it bad?" Jack asked.

"I don't know," said Suzanne. "He's been in Boston with Katya and I've been home in Georgia, but he and I talk daily and he hasn't been the same. It's one of those things – how hard do you push your baby to tell you what's wrong? It's his first heartache, Jack, which means it's my first too. I don't know what to do."

They started toward the exit; Jack didn't check a bag so Suzanne walked them straight to ground transportation. "What's he doing today?"

"He's with Katya right now and he'll probably come back to the hotel after lunch. He doesn't need to be at the rink until four." Suzanne glanced over at Jack before continuing toward the exit. "I didn't tell Katya you were coming. She wants nothing to do with you."

"I understand," said Jack.

"I don't know if it's a good idea for you to see him before," said Suzanne. "He skates better on raw emotion and I don't know how he'll react to seeing you. Did you see his first program?" Jack nodded. "He's a point behind Hanyu and is going into an event that four weeks ago he won by four points. He very well could win. He doesn't know you're here and he's mentally prepared to go tonight as is."

Jack didn't reply; they'd reached the exit and Suzanne approached one of the taxis in the line. Jack put his duffel bag in the trunk before he sat next to her, disappointed. He only had forty-eight hours before his flight home, and if Bitty did want to see him, if Bitty did want to forgive him, Jack wanted every possible moment with him before they left Japan.

"I asked the front desk before I left," said Suzanne before they'd even left the airport campus, "they do have vacancies. Dicky has his own room but, you know, just in case." Jack nodded. "I'm sure they'll let you check in when we get there."

Jack did not make it to the check-in desk. It was nearing noon by the time they arrived at the hotel in Saitama. He stood in the check-in line with Suzanne when Bitty and Katya walked in the front doors. Jack looked over and locked eyes immediately with Bitty; he looked better than Jack remembered, more beautiful than the expensive décor of the lobby, brighter than the sunshine pouring in from the glass exterior. Bitty radiated warmth and light, but his beauty dulled when he realized what he was looking at – Jack standing in line at his hotel, directly next to his mother.

"What is this?" he asked, his voice carrying all the way across the lobby.

They were not alone; Jack was four parties deep in the line for check-in, several tourists and business travelers sat in the lounge, and people were flocking toward the restaurant behind Jack for lunch. Bitty looked ready to cause a scene and there were no shortage of witnesses to listen in on what Jack had hoped would be a private reunion.

"Bitty," said Katya, and she tugged on his arm, "let's go upstairs."

"No! What is this, mother? What are you doing here with him?"

"Honey –"

"Did you ask him to come here?" Bitty asked, his voice rising both in pitch in volume as he continued to speak. "Did you tell him he should come? Why are you here, Jack?"

"Bits –"

"No!" yelled Bitty, and people were beginning to stare, "You don't get to come here and tell me you're sorry after NOTHING, Jack! After one text with 'Just got home' when really you meant 'Just got home but who cares because I never plan on seeing you again!'"

"Bitty," said Katya again, her voice gentle. "Take it upstairs."

He shoved a to-go container of food at Katya and stomped off toward the elevator. Jack wasn't sure if he should follow, but before Bitty disappeared into the hallway he turned and put both his hands on his hips, staring directly at Jack. Suzanne nudged him forward so he quickly followed Bitty out of the lobby.

Bitty pressed the up arrow on the elevator without a word. Jack could hear his erratic breathing, could see the flush spreading from his cheeks down his neck and into the collar of his shirt. He was a little sweaty from the morning's practice and Jack refused to think about how the sweat would taste underneath his tongue.

The doors opened. Bitty entered and Jack followed. Bitty furiously pressed thirty-two before he crowded himself into the corner, folded his arms, and looked pointedly at the ground. When the doors closed Jack was forced to look at them in the reflection, stare for thirty-two floors at how much Bitty did not want to see him and how much a mistake the last twenty-four hours had been.

Bitty led the way into his room. Jack followed in silence while they walked down the hallway, Bitty opened the door, and they walked inside. Bitty threw the keycard onto the dresser before he turned around and looked pointedly at Jack, his eyes already red. He would undoubtedly cry before long, either in Jack's presence or out of it.

Jack stood by the door, his duffel bag still on his shoulder. Bitty continued to stare at him.

"Well?" Bitty finally asked.

"I was waiting for you –"

"I have nothing to say to you," spat Bitty. "You were the one who flew halfway across the world, supposedly to see me, so say what you need to say and get out."

"I'm sorry," said Jack, and he left it at that.

Bitty stared at him and Jack could see the tears as they formed in Bitty's eyes: from the well of emotion that brought them forward to the shiny fill as they glazed over his vision. When Bitty blinked, two droplets fell onto his cheeks.

"Lord, I'm a fool," said Bitty and the tears kept coming, falling over and over again out of his eyes and onto his face. He wiped carelessly at them. "I wanted to hear you say that for weeks. I've thought about it for weeks. I've had to hide it from my mother and from Katya and they both knew – they both knew I wanted you to say that but I was going to be strong for their sakes and I was going to get over it and I was going to be fine because I'm a young fucking idiot who fell in love with you when I knew you didn't feel the same about me. I knew it. The whole time I knew it was going to end when we left but I'm me, I see the best in everyone and you made me feel special, Jack, for the first time in my whole life. I grew up in Homophobia, Georgia and even if I did have a crush on somebody it wasn't like I could act on it. I have never been desired in my entire life and then you came along and you are beautiful and wonderful and everything that I have ever wanted and you just…used me."

"No, Bitty –"

"It doesn't even matter if that's not what you intended. That's what you did."

"I'm sorry," Jack said again. "I'm sorry I made you feel that way."

"Well, yeah, you should be," said Bitty. He wiped at his eyes again. "You come in here like you meant it all along, standing in line with my mother, showing up four hours before I have to go perform – Lord, I have to go perform." Bitty sat on the bed and put his face in his hands, and Jack remained by the door. "I have to be happy tonight. I have to be confident and brave and look at me." Bitty dropped his hands and looked at Jack; he was a disaster, nose runny and eyes bloodshot and skin blotchy and so, so beautiful. "You know I actually wanted to see you today? I woke up this morning and put on the song and danced in front of my mirror and thought 'If Jack were here I'd have no problem with this. I would go out there and I would slay.'"

"If you want me to leave, I'll leave," said Jack, "but please, Bitty, know that I came here because I missed you. Because I ruined this and even if you can't forgive me I still want to take part in your life. I'm well aware that I don't deserve it."

"No," said Bitty, shaking his head. "You don't."

Jack waited. Bitty sat on the bed and composed himself but even after the tears stopped he still looked defeated, his shoulders hunched and his head down. Jack didn't move, didn't make a sound, until Bitty finally looked at him.

"Please come here," Bitty whispered.

Jack immediately dropped his bag on the floor and sat on the edge of the bed, not touching Bitty. Bitty sat up, looked up at him with his leaky brown eyes, and then rested his head on Jack's shoulder. Jack relaxed at his touch and let Bitty hold his hand, and they sat there in uncertain silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of a shorter chapter today, but I had to end it here because ANGST!!
> 
> Two more to go :)


	17. Chapter Sixteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oodles of love to [Luckie](http://archiveofourown.org/users/luckie_dee/pseuds/luckie_dee) for her beta work on this!

**BITTY**

 

Eric met Katya in the lobby at three-thirty with his equipment bag. He'd checked himself out in the bathroom mirror before he left and whatever traces of emotion he'd expressed upon seeing Jack Zimmermann in the hotel lobby were gone from his face. He looked back to normal but his feelings were far from it.

Katya demanded an explanation without saying a word, and Eric ignored it, completely ignored her altogether and headed toward the shuttle that would take them to the conclusion of the men's individual competition. He needed to focus and there was no way he could focus if Katya asked questions he didn’t feel prepared to answer.

She sat with him on the shuttle and did not speak to him. At the arena he changed into his costume and she laced his skates like she did when he was a child, pulling extra tight with the weight of her entire body (which, being a skater, was not very much), then knotted the bow. He stood to check the balance and nodded at her before he headed toward the ice for warm-up.

There were no adjustments needed to his free skate. He'd done it well at the Olympics and in order to secure his lead just needed to clean up his landings, which he'd done over and over again in the weeks leading up to the World Championship. He just needed to focus and forget about the clusterfuck that was that morning at the hotel.

Eric closed his eyes for a moment before he skated onto the ice to warm up. Hanyu was there, landing his quads with ease. Back in Sochi, Hanyu fell twice during his free skate and Bitty knew he wasn't about to do that again in his home country. Eric ignored him and circled the rink a few times before working on his jumps. His knees were fine. Fine wasn't going to win.

He skated back to Katya and she approached the boards with her eyebrows up. "What am I doing wrong?" he asked.

"You're not doing anything wrong," she replied.

"Were you watching? They don't feel right."

"They're beautiful, Bitty."

"Katya I know today has been a day but I need you to be critical. Hanyu's about to go out there and murder it." Katya looked at Hanyu as he landed another quadruple toe loop. A small smile crossed her lips. "What?"

"He's nervous." Eric looked over his shoulder at Hanyu, who was facing away.

"No he's not."

"He's done the same quad toe over and over again. He's nervous he's going to mess it up. He hasn't done a single other jump since he's been out here." Eric watched again, trying to be discreet, as Hanyu skated into his jump, spun four times, and landed again. "See?"

"You're right, he's nervous," said Eric.

"Your jumps are good, Bitty. Breathe. Feel it. This is your program and you can win it." Eric nodded; Katya turned to leave but he reached over the board and grabbed her hand. He held it in both of his and brought it to his lips to kiss it.

"Thank you, Katya, for everything you've done for me," he said.

"That sounded very final."

"It was."

He released her hands and headed back out to the ice to finish his warm up.

 

***

 

Eric drew an unfortunate lot; he was set to perform second after the only men's competitor from Germany. There would be no precedent to beat after the German performed and Eric would easily slide into first place only to spend the rest of the competition waiting for someone to knock him down. He sat in a chair near the boards next to his compatriot and former roommate Jeremy Abbott, who had also been silent since he left Sochi – but unlike Jack, he and Jeremy were barely friends.

"You nervous, Golden Boy?" Jeremy asked with a smile when Eric sat down.

"Ugh, don't call me that, you'll jinx it," said Eric. Jeremy laughed and put his arm around the back of Eric's chair.

"Don't worry. Your quad the other day was insane. I wanted to tell you. Who even does that in 2H?" Eric smiled; it had gone off without a hitch despite how many times he fell at the practice rink in Boston. He fell a lot in Boston, and while Jeremy started talking smack about the other skaters as they walked by, Eric wondered if he could count all of the times he fell just in the practice rink in Boston. There would be no way he could potentially count all of the times he'd fallen in his life.

"Man, you really took to those hockey dudes, didn't you?" Jeremy asked. Eric stopped mentally wandering and looked back over.

"Hmm?"

"Is that Jack Zimmermann with your mom up there?" Jeremy pointed and Eric looked behind him; Jack sat next to his mother in the family section. "Remember when he yelled at you because you ran into his goalie?"

"Hah, yeah," said Eric, smiling happily as his stomach twisted into knots. "He apologized."

"Good for him. The rest of your hockey buds here too?" Eric's stomach continued to churn and he wondered if he had time to run to the bathroom and puke before they called his name.

"No, just Jack. I got to see Ransom at a Bruins game the other day, though. That was cool."

"Ransom? Ugh, I still don't get these hockey nicknames." Eric looked over his shoulder again at Jack. Jack offered him an encouraging smile and waved; Eric felt his cheeks grow hot and turned around without waving back. He rolled his wrists and ankles a few times until it happened:

"From the United States of America, Eric Bittle."

"Go kill 'em, Golden Boy," said Jeremy and Eric smacked him in the leg before he stood to meet Katya at the entrance to the ice; she gave his hand a small squeeze. He skated a few slow laps before returning to her one more time.

"You have this, my Itty Bitty," she said, and she patted his cheek.

He took a final, calming breath before he headed to the center of the ice and put on his best face, but despite Jeremy's and Katya's confidence, he didn't feel the assurance that he felt at the Olympics. Then, as he thought about it, the reason he felt so comfortable in Sochi was because he'd just been on an unintentional date with Jack Zimmermann. He snuck a glance in Jack's direction – it was too far to see him clearly, but the memory was clear and it brought a grin to his lips.

It was enough. The music clipped on, Eric began to dance, and everything felt right. The height on his first jump combination was more than enough room for the revolutions, his two triple lutzes had never been so perfect, and when he spun a final time and dug his toe pick into the ice, he knew it. This was the very last time he'd ever perform, and he'd done the best he could.

Katya unlaced his skates and placed them back in his bag. There were still several skaters before Hanyu, and more after that. Katya walked with him through the tunnel and to the dressing rooms where most of the skaters still too far away from their ice time were waiting, trying to remain limber and focused. Eric wanted nothing to do with any of them, but formalities were needed and he accepted congratulations from each one of them before he was allowed to sit down.

"Katya?" Eric asked quietly.

"Yes, Bitty?"

"Can you get Jack?"

Katya stared at him, her expression unreadable. "Please?" he added, as if it would help. She let out a frustrated sigh but didn't speak on it before she stood and walked away, her phone in her hand. Eric rested his head against the wall and closed his eyes; they'd been in Japan a week and he still didn't feel accustomed to the time difference.

"Bits?"

He opened his eyes. Katya was nowhere to be found but Jack stood awkwardly in front of him, his hands in the pockets of his jacket. "Katya said you wanted to see me. At least I think she said you wanted to see me. Her accent was really thick. I think she was mad."

"Yeah, she does not like you," said Eric with a snort.

"I figured that. Can I sit?" Eric nodded and Jack sat next to him. "You looked great out there. I know my knowledge of all this is pretty limited, but your mom agreed with me. You looked happy. I like it when you look happy."

"I was thinking about you," said Eric. "Remember when we accidentally went on a date on Valentine's Day?" Jack smiled and looked away.

"I knew it was Valentine's Day."

"Oh, you sneak!"

"I was so relieved when I realized you had no idea, though. I thought I was being too obvious and then we got to the coffee shop and they'd decorated –"

"I thought they were just really gung ho about Russia." Jack laughed and Eric smiled at the sound of it. "I remembered how I felt when I was sitting there with you, and we were talking and laughing and I was happy." Eric glanced around, but he'd sat in an alcove for a reason. "Listen, I'm still mad at you. Like, really mad at you. If we're going to do this you can't just disappear on me when you get busy."

"I know," said Jack. "I won't."

"We need to make plans before we leave Japan. Specific plans of when we're going to see each other again, and you will have to actually see me at the appointed date and time."

"Yes," said Jack.

"And you have to reply to me when I text you. Not every time, but most of the time. I text a lot. I'm really talkative."

"I had no idea," said Jack.

"Quiet, you," said Eric and he hit Jack in the arm. Jack caught his hand, brought it to his lips, and kissed it, and Eric quieted instead. Jack looked Eric in the eyes, still clutching onto Eric’s hand, but the moment passed entirely too soon. Yuzuru Hanyu was called to the ice. "Oh, Lord," said Eric. "Oh, Lord, I'm nervous."

"I've got you."

"No," said Eric, shaking his head. "They're going to want to film my reaction. You have to go." Jack nodded but before he could run away, Eric pulled him in and pressed their lips together. Jack sighed against Eric's mouth, relaxing into the kiss, one hand on Eric's face, the other on Eric's knee. Eric felt a rush of heat seep into his belly and he pulled away. "Go. I'll see you after."

"You've got this, Bits," said Jack. Eric offered him a nervous smile before Jack squeezed his knee and left. Eric took several breaths in a futile attempt to calm himself before he also left the alcove and headed toward the rink just as the music for Hanyu's performance began.

Eric had just made it out of the tunnel when Hanyu launched into his quad toe. Eric pursed his lips together to hide a smile at the sight of the crooked entry. Hanyu didn't fall but he was severely under rotated and had to put a hand to the ice to steady himself before he continued on with his program. A camera pointed in Eric's direction and he tried to look as pleasant but polite as possible when inside he could feel himself screaming.

Katya appeared next to him when Hanyu finished his skate to tremendous applause from the audience. The camera was still pointed directly in Eric’s face so he smiled at her when she put her arm around him. It was still going to be at least three minutes before Hanyu's score was ready, so they stood there as patiently as possible, staring at the scoreboard, until it displayed Yuzuru Hanyu with a large 2 next to his name.

Eric collapsed into a chair, his hands over his face, Katya laughing and rubbing his back as he burst into tears. "I told you, Bitty," she was saying, but he could barely hear it. "I told you that you could win this." He heard his heart beating in his ears, heard his rapid breath and curtailed sobs, and knew all of it was on camera. "Come on, Bitty, you have to wave." He nodded and wiped furiously at his eyes before he stood up. The camera was pointed directly at him and he could see himself on the Jumbotron high above the rink, his face red and blotchy, but his smile large enough to show all of his teeth.

None of the rest of the skaters after Hanyu had the short program rank or the starting value to match Eric's score. Eric waved at the camera, turned around and waved at the crowd, and then turned to the family section and looked at Jack. Just as he did, Jack slowly raised an air horn. The blare filled the arena, earning Jack several evil eyes from the rest of the family section, but Jack only had eyes for Eric. As Eric laughed, he only had eyes for Jack.

_ Lord, _ Eric thought.  _ This boy. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Andddddddd that's really it! I will post the epilogue on Thursday, which will wrap up a couple of loose ends, but this is effectively the end of the story.
> 
> Thank you so much to all of you who commented so much and read all the way to this point. I had so much fun researching, writing, and posting this, and I hope all of you did too!
> 
> If you want, come on over to [my tumblr](http://foryouandbits.tumblr.com/) and say hi!


	18. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So many thanks to [Luckie](http://archiveofourown.org/users/luckie_dee/pseuds/luckie_dee) for all of her beta work on this. This story is so much better because of you!

**BITTY x JACK**

 

 **Eric Bittle** @omgcheckplease  
Am I still a frog if I'm technically a junior?

 **Tango** @actuallyimtony  
@omgcheckplease yes

 

***

 

"Honey, honey!" Bitty yelled as he flung open the apartment door, "Are you home? Please tell me you're home!"

Jack poked his head out of the bathroom, his hair still wet, his shirt in his hands. Bitty turned to him, wearing the brightest smile Jack had ever seen, but he paused at the sight of Jack shower fresh and shirtless. Jack lifted the shirt to put it on only to see Bitty raise his palms in the air and say, "Wait just a second." Jack smirked but still blushed as he dropped his hands to allow Bitty's eyes to take their fill.

"What's up, Bits?" he asked as Bitty's eyes continued to gratuitously travel over his torso. "You sounded like you had something very important to tell me."

"Hmm?" Bitty asked, his eyes on Jack's abdomen. He blinked a few times and looked back up at Jack's unshaven face, his beard dark and full after three weeks of growth. "Oh! Oh yeah! Guess what? I made the hockey team! I'm going to play next year!"

Jack took three steps down the hallway toward the living room and gathered Bitty up in his arms, his shirt forgotten on the hardwood floor. Bitty giggled as Jack lifted him off the ground and began to kiss his face. "Jack!" Bitty yelled as Jack planted kiss after kiss on his face, "Jack, put me down!" Jack didn't; instead he hoisted Bitty higher and pressed him against the wall. Bitty stopped laughing and circled his legs around Jack's waist, raising his eyes to look directly at him. Jack studied his face for a moment to see both Bitty's joy and his sudden desire, before he pressed their lips together. Bitty responded with vigor, his hands travelling down the center of Jack's chest, over his warm, slightly damp skin.

When Jack let go, Bitty's eyes were heavy with want. "Are you proud of me?" Bitty asked. Jack nodded. "Are you going to come to my games and watch me play hockey and know that you're the reason I wanted to do it in the first place?" Jack nodded and swallowed hard at the thought of Bitty in his Samwell uniform checking a larger player into the boards before he headed toward the goal, faster than anyone on the ice. "Are you going to come back to my apartment after I win and fuck me into the mattress?" Jack nodded again. "Show me."

Jack growled and bit at Bitty's lip, just once, before he adjusted Bitty in his arms and carried him down the hallway to the bedroom. Bitty pushed open the door behind him and stared Jack in the eyes until Jack unceremoniously deposited him onto the bed and began to quickly unbutton his shirt. Bitty made it difficult, though, unable to stop touching Jack, and his arms kept getting in the way of Jack's fingers. Jack finally slapped his hands away and finished the last two buttons before Bitty lifted from the bed and Jack pulled off his shirt. He threw it onto the floor and unbuttoned Bitty's pants before yanking them down with his underwear and socks; Bitty was already aroused and desperate when Jack looked over his naked body, lying on top of the covers of the bed.

"Pants," Bitty said, gesturing to Jack's tented athletic shorts. "Off."

Jack swiftly removed them before he opened the nightstand drawer and pulled out two packets of lube labeled  _ Sochi 2014. _ Bitty laughed at the sight of them. "Oh my word, how do we still have some of those left?"

"We must not do this enough," replied Jack.

"Apparently not. I blame you, Mr. Stanley Cup Playoffs."

"Well after I win the Stanley Cup you can move in for the summer and we'll make our way through the rest of these." Bitty smiled and gestured for Jack to come closer. Jack dropped the packets onto the bed next to Bitty and crawled over him, in between Bitty's legs, and purposefully grinded their hips together before he kissed him. Bitty moaned into Jack's mouth.

"Turn over," Jack growled.

Bitty opened his eyes and Jack smirked at him, his expression heated with desire, and Bitty felt himself blush as he flipped onto his stomach and saw Jack reach for the first packet of lube. Jack moaned deeply and touched his lips to the skin just above Bitty's left shoulder blade, where Bitty had ignored his mother's advice and gotten a tattoo of the Olympic rings. It was a worthy investment if for no other reason but to have Jack kiss it every time they made love like this.

Jack knelt on the floor next to the bed and Bitty closed his eyes again when he felt Jack spread his legs and press a slick finger inside. Bitty buried his face in the covers, his fists tightly clutching the bedspread as Jack gently worked him open, knowing that as soon as they started going, nothing about Jack's touch would be gentle. The anticipation was building and when Jack had three fingers inside of him, Bitty was panting into the sheets.

Jack's free hand traced slowly down the center of his back. Bitty opened his eyes and turned his face to the side to see Jack smiling back at him. "You okay, Bits?" Bitty nodded but it didn't feel convincing as his desire swelled inside of him. Jack looked down at his fingers sliding wetly in and out of him. "Do you think you're ready for me?"

"Yes," moaned Bitty. He slid forward on the bed, his arms outstretched to attempt to grab hold of the edge of the mattress, but Jack had a very large bed and Bitty was still cursed with below average height. His shoulders and chest lay flush against the covers as Jack lifted his hips and stood behind him. He slowly sank in and Bitty let out a deep, satisfied breath when Jack's hips touched his skin. Jack gave a few gentle thrusts, easing Bitty into it, but then began to pick up speed until Jack's fingers gripped Bitty's hips to the point where it was nearly painful and Bitty cried out into his arms. He adjusted his balance, his eyes pressed into his left forearm, so he could reach in between his legs and take himself in his right hand.

It was hard to control his volume, not that Jack had ever asked him to in the time they'd been having sex in this apartment, but there was always the knowledge that Jack still had neighbors, and so Bitty muffled his voice in the covers as Jack continued to deliver on his promise to fuck him into the mattress. Bitty's hand gripped himself tightly but barely stroked, wanting to make this last as long as possible, but there was nothing for it – he came in a matter of minutes and Jack followed soon after with Bitty's name on his lips.

Bitty was still recovering, breathing hard, his face in his hands, when Jack carefully eased out of him, one hand on Bitty's sacrum as he did. Bitty looked over his shoulder and caught Jack's eye; Jack grinned viciously back at him. Bitty burst into laughter and put his face back in his hands.

Jack gently tugged at his hip so he'd roll over onto his side, then climbed onto the bed next to him and hugged him from behind. Bitty molded against Jack's body; Jack began to kiss his neck and gently caress his thighs. "I'm glad you came over today," Jack whispered into his ear. "I think my day is always better when you're here." Bitty rolled over to face him and rested his forehead against Jack's chest.

"Same," he said.

"Do you think your new coach would be opposed to you getting a few private lessons from someone in the NHL?"

"Mmm, probably not," said Bitty, his lips twisting upward into a smile. "As long as you promise to go easy on me. With the checking, I mean. Not otherwise."

"No, not otherwise," said Jack with a chuckle. The mirth left his face and he looked very grave very suddenly. "I was serious earlier. I want you to move in with me this summer. Do you have to take classes?"

"I probably should," said Bitty, "but if you’re giving me a reason to skip them..."

"I want you here, Bitty."

"I want to be here." Jack lifted his chin and gently pressed his lips against Bitty's, just for a moment, before he sat up.

"All right," said Jack. "Get dressed. We're going to the rink."

"What? Now?"

"Yep. Samwell Men’s Hockey cannot be good if they let someone who's never played the sport join the team." 

“I’m good, though! I scored on Chowder!”

“Bits,” said Jack. Bitty did not like the pitiful look on Jack’s face. “He let you score.”

“What? Really?”

“Chowder’s the best goalie in the league. I can't even score on him.” Bitty pouted and Jack threw Bitty's pants at him. "Let's go. Come August you will be the best player on the team."

Bitty put on his clothes and followed Jack out of the bedroom, holding tight to his hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for reading! I really appreciate everyone who has commented and shown love for this story. I had a blast writing it!
> 
> Come say hi on [tumblr!](http://foryouandbits.tumblr.com/)


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